


The Love That Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

by NiceHatGeorgia



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, And I mean slow, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, family fic, seasons 1-4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 164,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiceHatGeorgia/pseuds/NiceHatGeorgia
Summary: AU exploration of a Stargate world where Sam has a kid: As she works to balance saving the planet with being a single mom to a sweet little girl, Jack finds himself accidentally falling in love with not one Carter, but two. This fic starts at the beginning of the series and takes a nice long meander through the first four seasons as Sam and Jack go from strangers to friends to something much more.





	1. Children of the Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters in this fic will borrow bits of dialogue from the show, and this chapter has somewhat more than others because 1) we're just getting started, and 2) there's that whole scene in CoTG where Daniel is over at Jack's house having a beer and they talk about Sara and Charlie, and it's not in the online version of SG-1, but I think it's a really important scene for Jack's character development (at least, it's important to this fic!).

It's everything she's hoped for and nothing she could have imagined, and it's her job to imagine these things, specifically, this thing: the Stargate.

 

She was a part of Project Giza from the beginning, she worked alongside Catherine Langford and others to unlock its secrets, developing the technology needed to make the mysterious artifact function. She's lived and breathed the Stargate for years. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she told Colonel O’Neill that she felt like she had been preparing for this her whole life.

 

But to actually see the shimmering event horizon, to touch it, to walk through it and rematerialize light years away mere seconds later, well, there is really no way to prepare for that. Sam Carter had been amazed, breathless, and, apparently, really queasy.

 

She grimaces now as she recalls how she threw up on the other side of the gate. But no, she won't let herself feel embarrassed. It's because of her work that they were able to travel through the gate at all, and if she needs to throw up on the other side, then she's going to throw up, and they're going to deal with it.

 

She glances around the table at _them_ , the boys, the rest of the team, and at their head, Colonel O'Neill. Her gaze lingers for a moment on her mission commander as he fidgets with his pen. He is proving to be everything and nothing she expected too - in some ways, totally predictable, and in others, completely unexpected.

 

He was all smarmy asshole male commanding officer in the pre-mission briefing, and she had said what she needed to say to make sure he understands he can’t walk all over her. She’d laid it on pretty thick, she knows that, because it’s true that you’ve only got one chance to make a first impression.

 

But then once they arrived on the planet, he was all hugs and smiles with the Abydonian kids, like a long-lost, friendly uncle everyone loves.

 

Colonel O’Neill's friendship with Daniel, a civilian, an anthropologist, and by all counts, a huge nerd, is also outside of what she’d expected of him, as was his willingness to lie about the first mission to Abydos, putting his career, such as it was, on the line, in order to protect Daniel and the people there he’d come to care about.

 

And all this borderline irreverent casualness - she watches as he taps the pen loudly on top of the pile of papers in front of him, then spins it on his thumb before tapping it some more and sighing audibly. This draws a glare from General Hammond, but doesn’t slow down Daniel, who’s explaining how Ra borrowed the religion and culture of the ancient Egyptians and used it to enslave them. Sam is 95 percent sure the Colonel’s act is less casual and more a calculated tactic to get others to underestimate him, giving him a perpetual strategic advantage. If that’s the case, he sure is committed to the strategy.

 

General Hammond turns his attention now to her. "Captain Carter,” he says, "you're confident that the Stargate will take us where we want to go with this new information?"

 

The discovery of the cartouche on Abydos had blown her mind almost more than traveling through the Stargate itself. A year ago, after Colonel O'Neill and his team returned from the first Abydos mission, her own team at the Pentagon had tried hundreds of symbol permutations using Earth as the point of origin, and nothing had worked. But now, armed with the cartouche and actually accounting for thousands of years of stellar drift, which she still can't believe she didn't think of on her own, it feels quite literally like a whole new universe is opening up to them.

 

“They're feeding the revised coordinates into the targeting computer right now,” she answers the General earnestly. She feels so much better now that she can drop the bluster of her first meeting around this table and simply revel in the shared buzz of a discovery of this magnitude. She feels so much more like herself. "It'll take time to calculate but it should spit out two or three destinations a month."

 

She's smiling, she’s beside herself with anticipation, but General Hammond looks somber. "People, let's not fool ourselves here,” he says. “This thing is both vast and dangerous, and we are in so far over our heads we can barely see daylight. We would all be much better off if the Stargate had been left in the ground."

 

Sam couldn’t disagree more, and she’s about to say so, but before anyone can continue, news comes through that Feretti’s awake and they all run off to the infirmary in a whirl to see if he caught the symbols the hostiles had dialed. He did. In a flash, they’re all back in the briefing room and Hammond is authorizing a mission to Chulak, a planet that, hours ago, they didn’t know existed. It’ll be the same team that went to Abydos, plus Daniel, minus Feretti.

 

Sam is once again struck by how completely her imagination has failed to envision this. Nothing she had thought of was so wonderful and so terrible.

 

Everyone is to report tomorrow at 0600 and depart within the hour. It’s already past 2200, and Hammond has ordered everyone to go get some rest. They rise from the table as one. Sam highly doubts anyone will actually be sleeping, despite the day they’ve had and the day that will surely come tomorrow.

 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the General calling her name. “Captain Carter, a word?"

 

He turns without waiting for confirmation that she’s coming and walks into his office. She follows, as do the curious eyes of everyone else in the briefing room before they move to disperse.

 

“Close the door,” he says. She does, and she stands, waiting for him to speak.

 

He’s still standing too, and he sighs deeply before he begins. “Captain, I would like to inform you that pending the outcome of this mission tomorrow, the president has ordered the formation of nine teams, whose duties will be to perform reconnaissance, determine threats and if possible to make peaceful contact with the peoples of the worlds we can now access through the Stargate.”

 

Sam can hardly believe her ears. “Sir, this is… wow. This is incredible. Think of how much we could learn, think of what we could bring back.” It occurs to her belatedly to wonder why he dismissed everyone else, why he's telling only her and not announcing this to the whole group.

 

"What you could bring back is precisely what I'm afraid of, Captain,” he says reluctantly. “Nonetheless, Colonel O’Neill has been assigned to lead SG-1. I’ll speak with him in the morning before the pre-mission briefing. For the moment, you’ve been assigned to his team as his second-in-command.”

 

Sam feels a wave of elation, followed swiftly by a wave of concern. “For the moment?” Is this temporary? Probationary? Has she done or said something wrong?

 

The General frowns. “I'll cut to the chase, Captain,” he says, straightening up a little. “Among the officers who have been assigned or are under consideration for assignment to the Stargate program, your situation is unique.”

 

Her situation. “Sir,” she says, “with respect, I can’t possibly be the only - "

 

He cuts her off. “Your specific situation, Captain, is unique. Now I've got orders telling me to put you on SG-1, but my gut is having a hard time with these orders.”

 

Sam narrows her eyes. “Because of my 'specific situation.’” She can hear the hostility that has crept back into her voice, but she doesn't quite care, because all of a sudden she feels like she's back in that first briefing again, a woman against the world. The General is out of line if he thinks his personal opinion should impact her assignment, especially if the assignment has already been issued, especially if it's an assignment for which she has worked so very hard and so very long.

 

The General sighs again. “You were out there today, Sam,” he says. She flinches at his use of her first name, and he notices. “Captain,” he corrects himself. “This level of risk and uncertainty is beyond even our comprehension, let alone our capacity to meet it. You've got to allow that.”

 

She nods, because he is right, but she sticks out her chin a little bit too. “I don't want any special treatment, sir.” It comes out like a reprimand as much as a request, because it would absolutely kill her reputation in this command if he's going to start coddling her.

 

“Believe me,” Hammond assures her. “Neither one of us needs it getting out that I've known you since you were in diapers.” She takes a deep breath and feels herself deflate a little. She does know George Hammond, she reminds herself, and he’s one of the good guys. “I'd like to think I'd have this same conversation with any officer who shares your circumstances.”

 

It just happens that there aren't any. It shouldn't be surprising, really.

 

“The point is, Captain, you've got your assignment orders but I want you to know that you also have options,” he says. “We needed you on this mission to Abydos. No one else shares your expertise with both the Stargate and the military. But I don’t mind telling you that your permanent assignment to a frontline team was contentious. Several of my superiors argued that you're too valuable an asset to risk in the field. I feel confident that if I were to weigh in heavily on the matter, I could convince the Joint Chiefs and the President to keep you on this side of the Stargate."

 

Well, this is news. “You haven't weighed in yet?” She says it before she can stop herself, because it's not the type of question a Captain should ask a General in the US Air Force. It's impertinent, too familiar. He doesn't owe her an answer. But it means a lot to her to know that he hasn’t _actually_ let his personal opinion impact her assignment, that he’s actually taking the extraordinary step of asking her opinion. She feels a little bad for her earlier hostility.

 

Hammond allows a small smile and a slight tip of his head. “Like I said, Captain,” he says. “I wanted you to know you have options.”

 

Sam nods, swallows, meets his eye warily. Her anger is gone and what's left in its place now is fear, fear that the Stargate, which has just now finally been given to her, will slip through her fingers. “Sir,” she says earnestly. “I don't… I mean to say, the Stargate is... SG-1… it’s everything I’ve been working for. My entire career. My entire life.”

 

“I expected you to say as much,” he nods. “But I'd like you to think about it.”

 

“I don't need to think about it, sir,” she says, but he shakes his head.

 

“I’ll make it an order then,” he says, but his tone is soft as he takes a step closer to her. “I’m not saying we’d ship you back to the Pentagon. You’d have a position within this command, a scientific one. We’d look to you first to problem-solve on gate-related issues and questions, and you’d be the first to get your hands on new technologies that might come through the Stargate. You’d have the same opportunities for promotion and advancement. You just wouldn’t be in the field - the field on another planet.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, because she doesn't know what else to say. It would be a great assignment, really, maybe even a dream one. A month ago, hell, a week ago, she would've been over the moon about an assignment like that. But now... well, compared to actually going through the Stargate, nothing else measures up.

 

“Captain,” the General says, “go home. Get some rest. Go on this mission to Chulak tomorrow if you must.” He shakes his head reluctantly, and Sam suddenly wonders how he feels about his own assignment to this more or less unfathomable post. “But think about it. I’ll ask you for your decision in a couple of days, once you’ve had some time.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says again. Maybe she should think about it, out of respect for General Hammond, if nothing else.

 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Captain,” he says, and with that, she’s dismissed.

 

Sam squares her shoulders and walks out of the General’s office. He’s right, she decides. She knows what she’ll choose, but she owes it to herself, she owes it to… well, it will be best for everyone for her to know that she’s walked into this with a clear head and with both eyes open. Because god only knows where that Stargate might lead.

 

___

 

Jack looks across his living room at the unlikely form of Daniel Jackson, sitting in his arm chair holding a beer and quickly getting tipsy. Daniel Jackson. Who would’ve thought, after all this time, that Daniel would ever be sitting in his living room, in his house, on his planet? But the Stargate is open again, and Daniel is back. And the Air Force knows Jack lied about Abydos, and instead of being brought up on charges, he’s leading a team through the gate again. 

 

Daniel is going on about Sha’re, his wife, and Jack can’t help but feel sorry for the guy. It sounds like his life on Abydos was pretty near perfect for him, and then in the blink of an eye, everything changed. Jack knows how that can go.

 

Maybe that’s why Jack slips and mentions Sara. He only means to tease Daniel, already halfway drunk though not quite halfway through his first beer. “You’re a cheaper date than my wife was.” He’s still not used to the ex- part of their relationship, and the words tumble out before he can stop them. He silently prays Daniel won’t glob onto it and start asking questions. Daniel seems like the kind of guy who can get pretty caught up in his own thoughts. 

 

“Yes,” Daniel says. “When am I going to meet your wife?” Ok, so maybe Daniel is actually the kind of guy who will glob onto any interesting tidbit that passes his way. 

 

Jack sighs. "Oh, probably… never.” Daniel looks hurt, and in spite of himself, Jack feels compelled to clarify. "After I came back from Abydos the first time, she'd already left."

 

And there you have it. This conversation has officially taken a turn for the depressing, as if Daniel’s abducted wife wasn’t bad enough.

 

"I'm sorry,” Daniel says, and he sounds like he means it.

 

"Yeah, so was I,” Jack says. And then, for some reason, he keeps on talking. "I think in her heart she forgave me for what happened to our kid, she just couldn't forget."

 

"And what about you?” Daniel asks.

 

Jack doesn’t talk about Charlie. He doesn’t talk about his failed marriage. And he certainly doesn’t talk about how those two things make him feel. But there’s something about this guy. Back on Abydos, the first time, Jack had felt like he could talk to him. He’d kind of assumed at the time that it was mostly because he thought he was about to die. But now they’re on Earth and Jack doesn’t have a death wish, or a direct order to kill himself. So maybe they’re, like, friends?

 

"I'm the opposite,” Jack says. "I'll never forgive myself, but sometimes I can forget. Sometimes."

 

Jack takes another sip of his beer and stares unseeing at the curtains framing his floor to ceiling windows. He likes this new house, he really does. Charlie would’ve liked it too. He would’ve liked the deck and the yard. He definitely would’ve liked the windows. Jack got this house after the divorce and has no actual memories of Charlie here - for which is he grateful - but still he sees him everywhere. He sighs to himself. He doesn’t need to get shit drunk tonight. He needs to have a beer or two to wind down, he needs to sleep for four hours, and then he needs to wake up and lead a band of merry men and one merry Captain Doctor through a stable wormhole to the other side of the galaxy. 

 

“Like when you’re drinking?"

 

Jack looks up at Daniel sharply. Maybe they’re sort of friends, but that question crossed a line. No one gets to ask blunt questions about Jack's drinking, certainly not someone who hasn’t seen him in the last year. And certainly not when Jack has been holding it together so well.

 

“No,” Jack responds carefully. “I was thinking more like, when I’m on another planet."

 

Daniel chuckles at this, which is good, it’s what Jack was going for, though it’s not at all true. He thinks of Charlie every time he goes through the gate. The two are so connected in his mind.

 

“Good,” Daniel says. “Because you seem like you’re doing alright."

 

Jack nods and picks studiously at the label on his beer. That’s been his self-assessment too. He feels strangely pleased that Daniel agrees.

 

“So,” Daniel says. “How long has Sam been on your team?"

 

It takes Jack a second to realize that Daniel is talking about Captain Doctor Carter, though he’s grateful for the change in topic, however abrupt. “Not quite as long as I’ve known you were out of tissues,” he replies.

 

“Wow,” Daniel says. “I mean, I know you said you guys threw this all together pretty quickly, but wow. That’s quick.”

 

Jack nods. “She was at the Pentagon, apparently she built the computer thingy that dials up our Stargate."

 

“Wow,” Daniel says again. For a linguist, he’s not very eloquent when he’s tipsy. “That’s incredible."

 

Jack shrugs. Incredible, maybe, but it doesn’t mean she’s ready to be on a frontline team.

 

“I wonder why she didn’t go to Abydos with us, you know, the first time."

 

Jack hadn’t thought about that. She maybe would’ve been more useful at figuring out how to dial back home than Daniel himself had been. “She was probably too busy picking fights with her superior officers,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

 

Daniel chuckles to himself. “She didn’t really strike me as the type to pick a fight."

 

And that’s true, actually. The Doctor Carter who geeked out with Daniel about the cartouche thing was not the same Captain Carter who raked him and the rest of his team across the coals during the briefing. In fact, she’d gone from total jock to total nerd so fast he nearly got whiplash. 

 

“We’ll see,” he says. “I don’t think she likes me.” Not that that matters anyway. 

 

Daniel chuckles at this too. “I highly doubt you tried very hard,” he says, and that's also true. She assumed Jack would be an ass and Jack had risen to the occasion. He wonders how long he’ll be stuck working with her. Maybe this is all just a temporary thing.

 

“Well at least she has you,” Jack says, tipping his beer in Daniel’s direction before polishing it off. Daniel Jackson. Sitting on his living room. Working on his team. Going through the Stargate.

 

"So do you, Jack," Daniel says, in a comment that harkens more to their previous conversation than to this one. "So do you."

 

__

 

It’s nearly 2300 when Sam pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. The lights are all out in the front of the house but she knows she won’t be the only one awake, despite the late hour. Quietly, she closes her car door, walks to the front door of the house, and lets herself in. She makes her way to the kitchen at the back of the house, where a woman of about 60 is sitting at the table, sipping tea and reading a book.

 

“Hey, mom,” Sam says.

 

Jane Carter looks up from her book. “Sam,” she says. “I didn’t even hear you come in! Welcome home.” She stands up to hug her daughter.

 

 _You have no idea how far from home I’ve been_ , Sam thinks, hugging her mother tightly.

 

“I know you can’t tell me how it was,” Jane says with a cheeky smile. “But how was it?” She’s been an Air Force wife for decades, she knows a cover story when she sees one but she understands that top secret things are top secret for a reason, and she’s not resentful.

 

“Mom,” Sam says, finding herself at a loss for words. “It was… even if I could tell you, I don’t know how I would. It’s everything I’ve been working for. And I think it’s the start of something big."

 

Jane gives her one more squeeze and then steps back to put her hand on her daughter’s face. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been up to in that mountain for the last day but I’m so, so proud of you."

 

Sam chuckles softly. “I can’t even imagine it, mom."

 

She’s suddenly overcome by a wave of emotion that she can’t quite place. She and her mom took very different paths in life but managed to stay close in ways most of her friends never had with their mothers. None of this would have been possible without her mom’s encouragement and support. Sam knows how lucky she is, and doesn’t know what she would do without her.

 

Maybe it’s normal to get emotional like this the first time you travel across the galaxy, Sam thinks, trying to shake it off, but her mom must see something in her eyes. “You ok, sweetie?"

 

“Yeah,” Sam reassures her. “I’ve actually got to be back at the mountain in a few hours, but I wanted to come home and see you guys, see how you’re doing."

 

“We had a good day,” her mom tells her. “She’s sleeping now but you can peek in if you want."

 

Sam definitely wants to peek in. Quietly, she climbs the stairs and walks down the hallway, leaving the hallway light off and hugging the wall on the right to avoid a creaky spot on the floor in her parents’ aging house. At the end of the hall, the door to the guest room is slightly ajar, and inside, a small girl is sleeping soundly in a portable crib.

 

Sam leans against the doorframe and takes in the sight of her daughter’s peaceful face, the sound of her even breathing. She feels herself breathe deeply too. She remembers her conversation with General Hammond before she left the base. She’s the only single parent in the Stargate program, he said as much. It shouldn’t be all that surprising, really.

 

But it makes her wonder, does she owe it to her daughter to pass this up, or does she owe it to her daughter to see this through?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this is a WIP that's maybe about 2/3 finished? I mean it's all up here (points to own head), but, you know, writing takes forever. I don't know how regularly I'll be posting new chapters but my goal is about once per week. This fic will be rated M eventually, but it's going to take us A WHILE to get there (don't worry, we'll definitely get there, I'm always in this for the happy).
> 
> I'd love to hear your reactions/comments, or come say hey over on tumblr!


	2. The Enemy Within

Sam tears off another small piece of a grilled cheese sandwich and places it on her daughter’s tray. The little girl picks it up, inspects it, squeezes it between her fingers experimentally and then smears it across her mouth with an open hand. Sam chuckles. “Amy, sweetie,” she says. “You can just put it straight in your mouth, you know.” She demonstrates with the next small piece of grilled cheese, popping it into her mouth with an exaggerated “mmmm."

 

“Now what fun would that be?” Jane asks with a wink, setting a bowl of sliced fruit on the table and taking a seat on the other side of Amy’s high chair.

 

Sam smiles at her mom. “Not nearly as fun as this, I guess.”

 

Amy puts her next bite straight in her mouth and says “mmmmmmm,” drawing grins from both women at the table.

 

“You look tired,” Jane observes.

 

Sam supposes she does. They barely made it back to the gate on Chulak within General Hammond’s 24-hour time limit, which meant they had arrived back on Earth at about 0700. She’d stuck around for a while, riding out the adrenaline and working with Daniel to organize the refugees who’d come back through the gate with them. The cartouche on Abydos was one thing - one very monumental thing - but to have actual aliens, human aliens, no less, from these other planets report their home planet addresses, it blew her mind. After a few hours, she was dead on her feet, along with her teammates, but she couldn’t bear to tear herself away. The places they can visit now, the people they know…. She would probably still be standing around the base in a zombie-like state had General Hammond not ordered them home to rest. 

 

Now it’s noon, which means she’s been awake for well over 30 hours, and she hadn’t had much sleep before that either. She casts a weary smile at her mom. “We had a big day,” she says.

 

“And no sleep, I’m sure."

 

 _Unless you count the time we spent unconscious in captivity,_ Sam thinks wryly. It wasn’t exactly restful. She takes another bite of her own grilled cheese sandwich and laughs when Amy reaches for it, her small fingers waggling and her mouth open, displaying her eight tiny, perfect teeth. Sam tears off a small bite and tosses it on Amy’s tray, to Amy’s delight. Someone else’s grilled cheese sandwich always tastes better than your own.

 

“How was Amy?” Sam asks. She knows from experience that her mother will respect her desire to change the subject.

 

“She was perfect,” Jane replies. “She ate all her spinach at dinner. You would’ve been so proud."

 

“Good job, big girl,” Sam says to Amy.

 

"And she’s getting so good with her walking,” Jane continues. "She walked clear across the kitchen without falling this morning! Didn’t you, Amy? She had a spoon in each hand.” Jane chuckles and Sam can just picture it. “It was so cute.”

 

“Spoon!” Amy confirms. Amy knows about three words, and spoon is one of them.

 

Sam laughs again, and leans in close to her daughter, so they’re nose to nose. “You’ll have to show me later,” she says.

 

“Maybe you could take a nap first,” Jane suggests. “ _Both_ of you.”

 

The mere mention of a nap causes Sam to yawn involuntarily. “Mmm, that does sound good."

 

“Mmmmmmm,” Amy says again, picking up her next piece of grilled cheese and dropping it on the floor.

 

“Ok, enough with that,” Jane says. She removes the few remaining pieces of grilled cheese from the high chair tray and places a bowl of yogurt in front of Amy, handing her a small blue plastic spoon.

 

With intense concentration and great care, Amy dips the spoon in the bowl, covering the back of it in yogurt, and then lifts it to her mouth, opening wide even though the spoon is still a long way off. The yogurt is thick but Amy is slow and her aim is not all that great. A blob of yogurt plops off the spoon and onto Amy’s bib, then dribbles inescapably onto her shirt. Sam makes a move to take the spoon away and just feed Amy herself, but Jane reaches out and stills her hand.

 

“She’s learning,” Jane says gently. “Learning is messy. It’s ok.” Sam gives her mom a skeptical look, but Jane just smiles. “This is what laundry machines are for,” she says. “Trust me.”

 

So Sam leans back in her chair and watches as Amy’s next attempt hits a little closer to the intended target. Amy looks delighted.

 

“I just can’t believe how big she’s getting,” Sam muses softly, more to herself than to her mother. Every day it seems, the little girl masters something new, something Sam had previously not thought possible. Sam can remember like it was yesterday a time when Amy couldn’t hold up her head, and now she’s learning how to eat with a spoon. It’s incredible. 

 

Jane looks thoughtful at Sam’s wistful disposition. “Is it just that you’re tired? Or is there something else?”

 

Her mother has always been so good at reading her. Sam never got away with anything as a kid, not that she tried much. Her mother could always tell.

 

“It was really intense, mom.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Jane nods in a gentle invitation for Sam to continue if she wants. 

 

“It was...” Sam flounders for a moment and then settles on the thing that’s actually bothering her, gnawing at her from the inside, more than the fatigue or the awe or the sheer magnitude of what they have done, traveling across the stars to other planets and poking a long-dormant enemy with a gigantic stick. “Uncle George - General Hammond - he’s asked me to make a decision.”

 

“A decision?”

 

“Yeah.” She presses her lips together and thinks about whether she can actually discuss this with her mother.

 

Jane seems to notice her hesitation. “Give it to me in the barest of terms,” she says. “I won’t ask for details. But see if you can break it down.”

 

“Ok.” Sam takes a deep breath. “I’ve been issued an assignment, but it’s… well, there’s another assignment that’s also an option, sort of.” She looks up at her mom apologetically, this has got to be sounding about as clear as mud. “The one position, where I’ve been assigned, it’s… risky. Dangerous, actually. And the other one is… less so. The whole thing is really new, but really important. I want to go where I’m needed the most, and I think I’m needed most where I was assigned, but…” she trails off, not sure how she can or should finish that thought. 

 

Jane sits quietly, waiting to be sure Sam is finished. “Well,” she says finally, leaning back in her chair, as if trying to appear casual, “first off, it’s no small thing that a 28 year-old captain gets to pick her assignment in the US Air Force.” As a military spouse, Jane had been on the receiving end of reassignment orders more often than she’d liked, so she of all people would know that this is not SOP.

 

“Mom, it’s George,” Sam says.

 

“I know that, but he’s a fair man,” Jane says, and Sam nods. She’d reminded herself of more or less the same thing. “I think this says a lot about how George values you and the work you do.”

 

“It’s because of Amy,” Sam says quietly, turning back to her daughter. “The post I’ve been assigned to is dangerous enough that he’s hesitant to order me to do it.” 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam sees her mom breathe slowly in and out. She knows Jane has come to terms with the fact that war has put her loved ones in the line of fire, quite literally, on a regular basis. Sam flew F-16s in the Gulf War. Hell, Jacob was shot down in Vietnam. In neither of those instances, nor in many countless thousands of others, did the Air Force take into consideration loved ones back at home. Sam knows her mom must be fighting back her own curiosity and concern about what makes this so different. 

 

“What does your gut tell you?” Jane says.

 

“My gut tells me I’m a soldier and I have a job to do,” she says. The gut part is easy enough. 

 

“But?”

 

“But then I look at Amy...”  Amy, who has made significant progress on her own with her spoon but now has yogurt covering much of her chin and cheeks, not to mention her bib and her lap. “I’m all she has. And I just can’t imagine that it’s right for me to take this kind of risk.”

 

Sam feels her eyes start to mist over and she blinks rapidly, fighting the urge to reach out and touch a yogurt-covered cheek, as it would surely put her over the edge. God, she must really be tired if this conversation is making her tear up.

 

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Jane says.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“You guys are going to need a better cover story.”

 

Sam huffs a laugh and feels grateful to her mom for breaking the moment that nearly had her crying in her grilled cheese sandwich.

 

“Trust yourself,” Jane says, seriously now. “You’re a good officer and a good mother, you’re smart and you have good instincts. You’ll make the right call on this. And sleep on it, will you? Nap on it at least.”

 

Sam smiles and reaches across the table to grab Jane’s hand. “Thanks, mom.”

 

Jane squeezes her hand back.

 

“Both posts have me stationed at Cheyenne Mountain, you know,” Sam says with a small smile.

 

She sees a flash of relief in her mother’s eyes that momentarily betrays the worry she must feel. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.” Jane squeezes her hand again.

 

They hold hands across the table for a while, quietly watching Amy, who has relinquished what’s left of her yogurt to focus on some sliced up bits of banana and pear. She likes pears, but bananas are her favorite, so she carefully sets the small pieces of pear as far away from herself as she can on her high chair tray so they’re out of the way.

 

Jane clears her throat. “I was thinking,” she says, “I might check with Mark and see if he and Heather and the boys want to come over this weekend. If you’ll be around, that is."

 

Sam keeps her eyes on her daughter and makes an effort not to frown. She and her brother are on friendly enough terms, but they’re not exactly close. He was more resentful than inspired by their father’s military career, and never really understood Sam’s desire to follow that path, especially now that Amy is in the picture. “Yeah,” she says. “I think I’ll be around.”

 

Like most military families, the Carter family moved around quite a bit when Sam was young. They spent a year in Colorado Springs when Mark was a senior in high school and Sam was a freshman, and Jacob was stationed at Peterson. Mark liked Colorado, went to college in Denver, stayed in touch with his high school girlfriend and ended up moving back to the Springs to marry her after he graduated. They now have two boys, Kyle, who’s four, and Gus, who’s one and a half, about five months older than Amy. Sam knows that they were a big factor in Jane’s decision to settle herself in Colorado, even if Jacob’s work keeps him traveling too much to really call anyplace home.

 

“They’d love to see Amy, and you,” Jane prods gently. “And since her birthday was just a couple weeks ago, I thought it could be a little bit like a belated birthday party for her, with her Colorado family."

 

Sam wonders briefly about the other side of Amy’s family, the side that, as far as she ever heard, doesn’t know Amy exists. She can’t help the sigh that escapes. “Don’t tell Mark that though,” she says. “I don’t want him to think I’m trying to get him to buy her a present or something."

 

Jane chuckles. “Oh, you can be sure Heather already has presents for her. I just thought it might be fun to do a little cake or something.” 

 

Sam nods, eyes still fixed on Amy, who has finished her bananas and decided to reconsider the pears. Sam reminds herself what this must mean for her mom, to have her children and grandchildren actually living all together in one city, instead of spread out over the country or the globe. Sam knows Jane probably never imagined she’d get this chance for a casual weekend family get-together. She probably wants to seize the opportunity before it gets pulled out from beneath her as suddenly as it came about. “Cake is good,” Sam agrees.

 

“Great,” Jane smiles. “I’ll call Heather while you two go down for your nap."

 

_________

 

After lunch, Sam hoists Amy up onto the bed in the guest room, forgoing the portable crib. She’s only recently quit breastfeeding, and she misses the physical connection to her daughter. She wonders if Amy misses it too. 

 

She can’t help but wonder what it would have been like if this mission had come a month earlier, when she was still nursing a couple times a day and pumping at work. Hardly twelve hours had passed between Sam getting her transfer orders from the Pentagon and arriving at Cheyenne Mountain, and twelve hours is not enough time to ween a baby. She grimaces to herself as she imagines the looks it would’ve elicited from her teammates had her breasts started leaking in the middle of the firefight on their way back to the gate, especially after that song and dance about her reproductive organs.

 

Sam also feels lucky that her immediate transfer orders sent her to a place where she has family that can watch her baby. She knows the Air Force would’ve helped figure something out for Amy if Jane hadn’t been around or was otherwise available. But knowing Amy is in her Nana’s care gives Sam a peace of mind she wouldn’t have if Amy were with a stranger, even a well-qualified one.

 

Amy is a good sleeper on a normal day and she’s drowsy already after her busy morning walking with spoons and her long and labor-intensive lunch. She’s yawning widely as Sam settles in on the bed next to her.

 

Sam thinks about the refugees back at Cheyenne Mountain, about the homes they’ll return to on the planets they perhaps thought they’d never see again, the loved ones who had perhaps already started to mourn them. She realizes, to her surprise, that never once during their whole ordeal on Chulak did she think they might not make it back to their own planet and their own loved ones - not when they were captured, not when they woke up locked in a prison, not when the Serpent Guards turned their staff weapons on the crowd of people that included SG-1. She thought - she assumed - that they would fight, hard and harder, smart and smarter, and that it would be enough. This time, it was, but will it always be? Was she confident, or was she foolish? Were they the hardest and smartest fighters? Or did they just get lucky?

 

She thinks about George Hammond, about the decision he has asked her to make, and the answer she owes him. She wishes there were some way to quantify all this, numbers to express love and family and the expanse of the galaxy, equations to balance danger and risk and safety and hope.

 

Tucking the pillow under her head, Sam turns on her side and finds blue eyes that are sleepy but nonetheless expectant blinking back at her. “Mama,” Amy say in her sweet, small voice that’s only just finding itself. She reaches for Sam’s shirt and pulls her small body in closer to Sam. Normally they would read a story or something but Sam doesn’t think Amy would make it through one right now. So instead, she sings softly and runs her fingers lightly over her daughter’s wispy hair, watching her eyes drift closed and feeling her breathing even out.

 

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are…"

 

It doesn’t take long for Amy to drift off, and Sam is not far behind.

 

 

__________

 

 

Twenty-four hours later, she’s standing in the Control Room at the SGC, looking down at the dead body of Major Charles Kawalsky, and the dead Goa’uld that had taken up residence inside him. An actual Goa’uld had hijacked one of their own, come back through the Stargate with them, and started killing people. How long would it have been before it had made its way out of the mountain and started killing civilians? What kind of damage could it have done? Could it have signaled the other Goa’uld somehow? Was this a single Goa’uld who got lucky, or was he the first advance in a coordinated assault? How much longer did they have - they, the SGC, the Air Force, the planet - before the the next attack?

 

Before now, when Sam thought about the danger inherent in this position, it was always located elsewhere, across the galaxy, and the people in danger were herself and her teammates. There was a risk to Earth, of course, at some indeterminate time in the future. But now, the front lines of this war are all of a sudden a hell of a lot closer to home. Sam is in danger, yes, but now so is Amy. So is everyone. 

 

And in light of this, Sam knows without a doubt what decision she needs to make. She turns on her heel and walks purposefully to General Hammond’s office. She’s made her choice. She’ll see this through, for her own sake, for her daughter’s sake, for the planet’s sake.

 

“I know you don’t approve of this decision,” she says to the General once she’s told him she wants on SG-1. She holds her chin high as she speaks, but he waves his hand and shakes his head.

 

“Captain,” he says. “Our situation relative to the enemy is evolving by the minute. I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t relieved to know you’d be out there fighting, keeping our planet safe.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” she says. She doesn’t need his approval for her life choices, but it’s nice to have it anyway.

 

General Hammond nods in acknowledgement. “Welcome to SG-1, Captain Carter.”

 

 

—

 

 

They have a small ceremony in the gate room. Kawalsky’s remains, or at least part of them, will be shipped back to his surviving relatives in Newark. Jack hasn’t decided yet how he feels about this General Hammond, but he sure doesn’t envy him the task of explaining to Kawalsky’s family why the body has already been cremated.

 

They’re in their Class As, which Jack hates, and he thinks Kawalsky would’ve hated it too. They file slowly out of the gate room when it’s over, and Jack can’t wait to go home, put on his sweats, drink a beer and watch a ball game, any game, any ball.

 

Teal’c bids them goodnight and makes his way to his base quarters, which are nothing fancy, but Jack issure it beats the hell out of whatever Colonel Kennedy had planned for him.

 

The rest of his team has stalled out awkwardly in the hallway, and Jack realizes they’re both looking at him. He sighs. It’s times like this he doesn’t want to be a team leader. He just wants to be a guy who goes home and watches a game.

 

“Well,” he says unceremoniously. “See you kids tomorrow.” Hammond said he would’ve liked to have given them time off, but considering the circumstances surrounding Kawalsky’s death, an immediate return to work seemed more prudent. Jack actually agrees, as much as he doesn’t like it.

 

“Jack,” Daniel says. Ah, that’s right. Daniel is still bunking with him. He’s been offered quarters on base, probably right next door to Teal’c and probably with just as much privacy, but Jack offered his guest room and Daniel took him up on it and now here they are.

 

“Daniel,” he says in acknowledgement. Yes, he’s still welcome, and no, Jack hadn’t forgotten. Not completely, anyway.

 

“Jack,” Daniel says. He tilts his head minutely toward Captain Carter. Jack feels a wave of revulsion at the wide-eyed look on her face. She’d insisted in that first meeting that she could take it but she’s clearly overwhelmed. If he’s being fair, even he didn’t think “it” would be an enemy infiltrating their ranks, compromising their base, and by extension their planet, and killing one of their own within a few days of their first official mission. Still.

 

“Daniel,” he says in reply. It’s a warning. He’s not feeling charitable right now, or hospitable.

 

Daniel huffs. “Jack,” he says.

 

Jack rolls his eyes. “Oh, give me a break!” he says.

 

Daniel feigns innocent. “I didn’t say anything,” he says.

 

“Like hell you didn’t,” Jack says. He turns to Carter. “Team night. My place.”

 

Daniel looks smug, like he’s just won something, which he sort of has.

 

“Team night?” Carter says, looking all the more bewildered for the conversation she’s just witnessed, though Jack doesn’t exactly care.

 

“Yeah, you know. Food. Beer. Team. Team night.” Jack explains. Really, if she doesn’t know what a team night is, he shouldn’t have to invite her to one. This is all Daniel’s fault.

 

“Ok,” Carter says.

 

“What about Teal’c?” Daniel asks.

 

Jack has requested that Teal’c be allowed to join SG-1, and furthermore, Jack did promise to show Teal’c this world. But Jack’s also a pragmatist. “I think we should all just be happy that Teal’c isn’t on his way to a government ‘research facility’ right now.” He does air quotes around “research facility,” because no one here is dumb enough to think they were going to do anything but torture the guy.

 

Carter nods, and even Daniel seems to agree, for which Jack is grateful. He doesn’t have it in him right now to pick fights, even if he really does like Teal’c.

 

“I’ll ride with you, Sam,” Daniel says. “I can tell you how to get there.”

 

“Ok,” she to him. “I just need to make a quick call.” She nods to Jack and heads to the hallway phone, and Jack tries not to speculate as to whom she might be calling.

 

“This’ll be nice,” Daniel says, more to himself than anything. “This will be good.” Jack just glowers at him and then stalks off to change out of his goddamn suit.

 

—

 

A half hour later, the three of them are sitting on Jack’s deck. It’s still pretty early, actually, and the midsummer sun is just beginning to dip and stretch the shadows of the trees in Jack’s backyard.

 

Daniel carries most of the conversation while Jack scowls into the grill and Sam gives polite but brief answers to Daniel’s questions. She asks him some questions too, mostly about his time on Abydos, but the sparkly enthusiasm she had while they were actually on the planet seems to have dulled somewhat.

 

It’s borderline awkward, really, and one could be forgiven for thinking it so. But it’s also true that they’ve just lost someone, and that they’re just coming to terms with this new enemy they’ve provoked, so if they’re all a little quiet and subdued, that’s allowed.

 

Jack is mostly ignoring his guests, staring into the grill under the pretense of cooking their food. He had stocked up on ribeye steaks when they were on sale a few weeks ago so he’s thawed a couple of those and thrown them on the grill. He’s not serving anything else and he doesn’t bother asking Daniel and Carter how they like their steaks. It’s his house, they’ll eat what he cooks. The steaks are almost done now, and he’s sort of zoned out, watching the gas fire spark and listening to the sizzle of the meat and doing his best not to think about his pal Charlie who never made it home from Chulak, not really.

 

“Excuse me, sir?” Carter is saying. He turns and stares at her. That’s right. Team night. “Can you point me to your bathroom?” she asks.

 

Daniel starts to motion toward the door to the living room but Jack interrupts. “If you go down these stairs here and around the side of the house, there’s a back door that will put you in right by the bathroom.” Daniel gives him an overtly confused look which only he can see, since Carter is standing next to Daniel and looking at Jack.

 

“Thanks,” she says, heading off down the steps and around the back of the house.

 

Daniel has the courtesy to wait until she’s out of ear shot before he lays into Jack. “Seriously?” he says. “You make her walk around the back of the house and through the back door to get to the bathroom?”

 

“I never claimed to be a good host,” Jack says, turning back to the grill. “You’re the one who made me invite her.”

 

“It’s so she won’t see the pictures of Charlie, isn’t it.”

 

Jack sighs. It’s time to take these steaks off. He turns the nob on the grill to extinguish the flames. “It’s the most direct route to the bathroom,” he says plainly.

 

“Right,” Daniel says, and though Jack’s not looking at him, he can just imagine the petulant look on Daniel’s face. “Because the woman who wrote the computer program that dials the Stargate probably couldn’t find her way through your living room.”

 

Jack shrugs and throws the steaks on a plate. He turns and sees Daniel’s eyes narrowed at him.

 

“She’s going to find out.”

 

“Sure,” Jack allows. If she stays on his team, if they continue working together, if, if, if. “But I was kind of hoping… not tonight.”

 

Daniel deflates a little, and Jack hears footsteps coming back around the house to the deck. “Steak’s on,” he says.

 

They eat off paper plates, which is a little difficult with the thick cuts of meat and the steak knives and all, and they each drink one beer. And if it all feels kind of perfunctory, well, that’s because it is. She doesn’t do anything that outright aggravates him, which is good, but still, he doesn’t mind when she stands and politely wishes them a good evening, says she’ll see them tomorrow.

 

Jack watches her walk around to the front of the house, listens for the sound of her car engine starting, hears her drive away.

 

“I think that went well,” Daniel says.

 

Jack considers this. “She’s hiding something,” he says.

 

Daniel looks aghast. “Wow,” he finally says. “I genuinely can’t believe that you of all people just accused her of hiding something, after you sent her around the back of your house so she wouldn’t see the pictures in your living room of your son.”

 

 _My dead son,_ Jack thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s more going on with Carter than she’s letting on. She’d seemed like an open book at first, so full of confidence and so lacking in guile, but the more time he spends with her, the more he wonders what she’s holding back. It’s true he wasn’t exactly making an effort to get to know her tonight.

 

And it feels kind of good too to rile Daniel up a little bit. Jack is still getting used to the idea of having a friend, and he thinks this must be part of it, knowing just how to drive the other nuts and finding satisfaction in that.

 

“I’m going to turn in,” he says, standing up and wiping his hands together. Daniel sighs and rises too; if he’d hoped for more of a conversation with Jack regarding his proclamation about Carter, he’s apparently resigned himself to the fact that it’s not happening.

 

—

 

Weeks pass and SG-1 falls into something of a routine. The immediate threat of annihilation is gone, but the distant threat looms, and no one can say how distant it actually is. They visit a dozen or so planets, they make contacts, they try to find allies or resources or magical fix-its they can harness and use in the fight that is to come.

 

Some of the planets are useless, at least in terms of building Earth’s defenses, and some are worse than useless. Jack still get the willies when he thinks about the Land of Light and how close they came to causing a planet-wide crisis back on Earth.

 

Teal’c is indeed assigned to SG-1. His commitment to the people he calls Tau’ri and his faith in their ability to fight Apophis and advance the cause of freedom for his people motivates Jack as much as it scares him. Still, Teal’c’s extensive knowledge of the Goa’uld System Lords and the worlds connected by the Stargate makes him an invaluable asset to Jack’s team, not to mention the fact that he’s been a warrior for longer than Jack has been alive.

 

As for Daniel, he's got his own place now, an apartment downtown, and Jack couldn't be happier to have Daniel out of his hair. Friend status notwithstanding, Jack still can't decide if Daniel is a potential asset on SG-1 or just a pain in the ass. He's leaning toward the latter. For a guy who’s supposed to be trying to find his abducted wife, Daniel gets awfully hung up on mind-numbingly boring cultural details of the people on the planets they visit, even if those people have been dead for centuries. And he has absolutely no respect for the chain of command, which is going to get all of them in trouble someday.

 

Captain Doctor Carter, on the other hand, respects the chain of command. She respects her commanding officer, and she’s good at following orders. She’s good at a lot of things, Jack is finding out. He’d feared the worst when he was assigned a scientist - he’d feared she would have her head stuck so far into whatever little thing she was studying that she couldn’t be bothered to follow orders or care about the actual mission. These genius-types sometimes act like the rules don’t apply to them, and that’s dangerous for everyone on the team, even if they’re right. But Carter is proving herself to be military through and through.

 

But it’s more than her competence and obvious intelligence. Over the course of these first dozen or so missions, Carter shows herself to be resourceful, and capable of thinking outside the box. In Jack’s experience working with geniuses, they’re usually so sure of what they know and so incapable of adapting their ways to account for new information. Carter is the opposite. He remembers the look of wonder on her face right before he pushed her through the Stargate the first time. He’s decided that that look - that ability to let oneself feel fascinated instead of threatened by something so profoundly and startlingly new - might actually be a huge asset to their team dynamic. He can be the one who eternally plays it cool, and she can be the one who’s eternally inspired to make the impossible possible.

 

He still thinks she’s hiding something, something more than the obvious comebacks and one-liners she usually chooses to keep to herself in front of him. But so far it’s nothing that has interfered with their work or with their team dynamic. So while Jack has made himself familiar with the parts of her personnel file concerning her education and past military experience, as any good commanding officer would do, he hasn’t done any further digging to try figure out exactly what it is that she might be hiding. She’s entitled to her privacy, he decides, just as he is to his.

 

Jack doesn’t want to go so far as to say that he _likes_ her, but have they worked well together so far? Yeah. Is he ok with having her on his team? Sure. In fact, Jack could even be pressed to admit that given some more time and experience, she’s probably going to make a fine second-in-command on SG-1.

 

He just hopes they have enough time to experience whatever it is they need to experience so they’re ready when the next attack comes.

 

 


	3. The First Commandment

Sam arrives first in the briefing room and takes her usual seat at the table. Even though no one else is around yet, she fights back the yawn that’s building. It’s late in the summer now and Amy has just started cutting her first molar. It looks painful, and if Amy’s new tendency to wake up crying several times a night is any indication, it _is_ painful. Sam has been sleeping about as well as her daughter, which is to say, not well.

 

Her dad was in town for almost a whole week last week, which was an exhausting exercise in ignoring his near constant badgering about her new assignment analyzing deep space radar telemetry. Even Jane’s pointed looks and tactful talking-tos hadn’t been much help in staving off Jacob’s obvious frustration at what he interprets as his daughter’s lack of ambition. Sam was relieved when he finally returned to Washington. He’s only home once a month, twice, at most, but for Sam, that’s more than enough.

 

It’s been a shitty couple of weeks at work too. Sam likes her team, they work well together, but their recent missions have been a bust. Those first trips to Abydos and Chulak were exciting, terrifying, and invigorating, but for the last few weeks, Sam has felt more like a B character in a bad Star Trek episode than like an Air Force Captain protecting her planet from an evil of unknown might and will. She refuses to be embarrassed that she was forced to dress up like a medieval princess and then was kidnapped by a teenage boy. That was not her fault. She also refuses to be embarrassed that she became infected with some alien contagion and tried to jump her CO. That wasn’t her fault either, even if he teased her about it afterward.

 

She sighs and opens the mission folder in front of her, thinking of Amy at home with her mom. The two of them have plans for a trip to a nearby park today. New teeth notwithstanding, Amy is always in a good mood when she’s surveying the world from her preferred vantage point: a gently swaying baby swing.

 

This next mission better be good, Sam thinks. It better be worth it.

 

She looks down at the paper in front of her and skims its contents. Shit. Jonas.

 

 

—

 

 

Jack had a feeling this mission was destined to go FUBAR well before they stepped through the gate. He understands that his is the flagship team, that they are the ones to swoop in when things go wrong. He understands that SG-9 had missed a scheduled check-in, indicating something potentially very wrong. And he understands that the Air Force can be a small place, with only so many people to be romantically involved with, or formerly engaged to. But to send an ex-fiancee on what very well might be a recovery mission, well, there just has to be another option. He doesn’t need anyone getting emotional on him, not that she especially seems the type.

 

But Captain Carter had voluntarily disclosed the nature of her former association with Captain Jonas Hanson, and she’d sworn up and down that it wouldn’t be a problem. She told him she’d broken off their brief engagement nearly two years ago and that she hadn’t been in contact with him since. She insisted that if SG-1 was going, she was going. So against his better judgement, he relented.

 

Now apparently this Hanson guy is a psycho with a god complex. Jack hates psychos. They are so unpredictable.

 

Jack wonders if Carter knew much about Hanson’s god complex while they were engaged, or if this is a relatively new character development. He thinks about this as they eat their Power Bar breakfast and drink bad instant coffee around the remains of their campfire. SG-1 had camped out overnight with Lieutenant Connor but Jack is hoping to make contact with Hanson’s people any time now, for better or for worse.

 

A broken engagement to a fellow officer assigned to the same small, top-secret base. At least now Jack knows what her secret is.

 

“Daniel,” he hisses as they break camp. Carter is sitting on a log on the other side of the small clearing they’d called home the night before, applying sunblock.

 

Daniel saunters over to Jack. “Yeah?”

 

“Carter say anything more to you about this Hanson guy?"

 

Daniel frowns. “I thought you talked to her.”

 

“Yeah, I talked to her. But I get the feeling there’s more to it, so I was wondering if she talked to you."

 

“More too it? Like what?"

 

Jack rolls his eyes. “If I knew, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?"

 

Daniel shrugs with a nonchalance that makes Jack want to strangle him just a little bit. “I’m sure Sam told you everything that’s relevant,” he says.

 

“And I’m not sure she and I share the same understanding of what’s relevant, which is why I’m asking you, though I’m starting to wish I hadn’t.”

 

Daniel just blinks at him, his naive blue eyes looking out from behind his round glasses and floppy hair. Jack sighs. Are friends supposed to be this exasperating?

 

“Look,” he starts over, “she says she knows him, and she can get to him. I would feel better if all of us here on this little jaunt felt more like we knew him too. Do you think you could try chat her up a bit? See if you can get anything more out of her?"

 

“Like what?” Daniel has the nerve to ask.

 

“Daniel. As I’ve said. If I knew…"

 

“Right, right, fine. Ok,” he concedes. “I’ll go talk to her.” And with that, Daniel takes off in Carter’s direction.

 

“Daniel!” Jack whispers loudly after him.

 

Daniel spins around, a confused look on his face, again. Jack drops his head back in exasperation. For someone who's supposed to be a genius at communicating, gathering intelligence seems to have him stumped.

 

“Not right now! Give it a minute, or she’ll know I sent you. Wait ’til we get moving or something, huh?"

 

“Right,” Daniel says, that eager smile of his back in place. “Got it."

 

 

—

 

 

Jack’s painful conversation with Daniel earlier that morning seems to be paying off, as Jack listens in on Daniel and Carter’s conversation about Hanson while they walk through the woods. To his credit, Daniel is doing a pretty good job of making it sound like he's genuinely interested, instead of simply digging for intel. It probably helps that Daniel most likely _is_ genuinely interested. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.

 

“You know,” Daniel is saying, “he’s probably just trying to send us a message, that’s he’s in control."

 

Carter huffs. “Sounds familiar."

 

“Which part?” Daniel asks.

 

“He likes control,” she replies.

 

Jack makes a face. He know guys like that, and he can't quite imagine Carter with one of them. Then again, he doesn’t know her all that well, not really.

 

“Wow,” Daniel says. “Why did you agree to marry him then?"

 

Jack sees Carter clench her fists for a moment before she replies. “It seemed like the best course of action at the time. Didn’t take me long to realize it wasn’t worth it."

 

Jack feels all kinds of red flags fly up at that comment. “Wasn’t worth it?” Daniel repeats.

 

But Carter just shakes her head, and Daniel doesn't press it. Instead, he tosses a glance back at Jack, who gives a small shake of his head too. He doesn't get the impression that even Daniel’s friendly chatting is going to get more out of her. But at least this seems to confirm Jack’s suspicion that there is more to the story, and that they should proceed with appropriate caution.

 

“I don’t know,” she says finally. "I should be more surprised by this than I am, but I'm not. You know, he had this in him, Daniel."

 

Jack scowls. This sort of information would have been helpful yesterday. It would’ve been helpful weeks ago, before Hanson was put in charge of an off-world team, not that the Air Force is in the habit of soliciting personality recommendations from disgruntled exes. In fact, now that he thinks about it, it's entirely possible that Carter sharing the kind of information Jack suspects she has to share on Hanson would’ve affected the Air Force’s opinion of her more than him.

 

Jack glances over at Teal’c, who gives a crisp nod; he’s been listening to the conversation too and seems to share Jack’s assessment. This isn’t going to be fun. Looking up, Jack wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, warily feeling the sun burn through the tree leaves above. He watches Carter’s strong and measured gait through the underbrush, and he doesn't envy her at all. It's a hell of a position to be in.

 

 

—

 

 

Yep, this mission is turning out to be a disaster, just as he predicted. Jack's plan to impersonate a local and free Conner flopped pathetically, and now not only is Conner in Hanson’s custody, but Jack is too. He grimaces as he and Conner are shoved into Hanson's cave, where a third member of his party, Captain Carter herself, stands bent over the second shield generator, with Hanson watching closely.

 

"Colonel O’Neill,” she snaps to attention, ever the good soldier.

 

“Captain.” He can barely resist rolling his eyes at her. "I see everything's working out just as we planned."

 

Hanson walks up to Jack and uncuffs his hands. Without ceremony, he gives the order: “Shoot him."

 

“No!” Carter shouts. “All right. I’ll - "

 

“Wait, you’re going to turn this thing on in here?” Jack cuts in. Clearly, Carter and Hanson had been in the middle of a conversation. 

 

“Yes, she is,” Hanson says, more to Carter than to Jack, and Jack doesn’t miss how easily Hanson answers for her. “Now."

 

“You know, I know you, Jonas,” Carter says, ignoring Jack’s question. Maybe she's trying to distract Hanson. Jack hasn't been shot yet, so maybe it's working. "You never cared about my coming here because you wanted me. You just wanted me to figure out how to turn this thing on for you."

 

"Oh, no. That's not true.” Hanson walks over to Carter and places his hands on her arms, looking at her with a false sincerity that makes Jack’s skin crawl. He can only imagine the effect it's having on Carter, though she's doing a good job of not reacting. "I sincerely hope that one day, you will agree to be my goddess, and rule alongside me."

 

Jack rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today. Carter’s chin juts out defiantly. 

 

“And Amelia."

 

Carter goes completely still. It's clear that Hanson is trying to get a rise out of her, and not wanting to give Hanson the satisfaction is the only thing keeping Jack from waving his arms and asking, excuse me,  _who?_

 

So Jack schools his features, not that anyone is looking at him. Carter and Hanson are locked in an intense staring contest, apparently inspired by this Amelia, which carries on for several moments before Hanson finally breaks the silence. “Turn the device on now. If it works, I'll spare him."

 

Carter looks over at Jack, and he gives her his best _we'll talk about this later_ look before nodding and waving his hand at the shield generator, granting his permission to go ahead. Apparently it had stymied Hanson and his minions for weeks, but it takes Sam mere moments to switch it on. An orange beam of light shoots up into the sky.

 

Hanson turns his face up in awe. “It’s beautiful,” he says.

 

Maybe so, Jack thinks, but beauty won't save him, only functionality, and even then, Jack doesn't exactly expect Hanson to be a man of his word.

 

Sure enough, Carter's wrists are bound and his are re-bound and they’re led out of the cave back to a clearing where the Stargate has been tipped on its side. Jack does not like how this mission is going at all.

 

 

—

 

 

 

Hanson’s problem, Jack surmises to himself as he watches a group of natives right the Stargate, was that he had fallen for his own rhetoric. If he had remembered for just a couple seconds that he wasn’t actually a god, he would’ve been more careful, taken more precautions. He should’ve noticed that Carter was about to kick his gun out of his hands, but he was too busy trying to save face with his worshippers. Said worshippers had very quickly become revolutionaries, throwing their false god into the underworld, or, more accurately, into a closed titanium iris. Jack cringes as he imagines one of their own thudding against the cold metal, but then he shakes his head. Hanson isn't one of their own, not anymore.

 

Following the uprising, SG-1 had shown the natives how to activate the shield, and Carter had run a basic diagnostic to make sure the shield generators stay operational for the foreseeable future. According to her, the technology is straightforward and foolproof, which Jack takes as a not so thinly-veiled insult on Hanson, the fool who’d been unable to operate it. Now they’re packing up their gear and preparing to dial Earth, with the iris codes this time, to avoid Hanson’s fate. The rest of SG-1 and Conner are speaking with Jamala, who seems to be the new, de facto leader here, and a few of the others. Carter breaks away from the group and walks over to where Jack is standing.

 

“I think we’re ready, sir."

 

Jack regards her for a moment. She looks tense and ready for battle. She looks like she's trying not to look nervous. She's failing. But he does give her points for being brave and facing him instead of avoiding him completely. Jack turns his gaze back to the gate. "Think we should tell them to bury the gate after we’re gone?"

 

Carter’s gaze follows his. "Teal’c seems to think the Goa'uld won't be back,” she replies.

 

Jack nods as Daniel walks up. "Maybe we should come back and check on these guys,” he suggests.

 

Oh Daniel, and his unflagging eagerness to believe that their mere presence automatically does more good than harm. Jack is about to shoot him a sarcastic reply along those lines when Carter beats him to it. "I think we've done enough, don't you?” she bites out. 

 

That silences Daniel, who nods and walks away again.

 

They’re alone again, and Jack figures now is as good a time as any. “So,” he says, with artificial casualness, “Amelia?"

 

Carter stiffens, but takes a deep breath to answer him. She knew this was coming. “My daughter."

 

Jack nods. He had figured as much. “And Hanson was her father."

 

“No, sir."

 

“No?” That's surprising.

 

“Well, yes, sir, I mean…” she sputters for a moment, squeezes her eyes shut briefly and starts over. “Biologically speaking, yes, but he wasn’t ever a father to her. Not emotionally, not legally, nothing. She doesn’t belong to him, she never did.”

 

“Ok,” Jack says.

 

“I didn’t know he knew her name. I didn’t even think he knew if I’d had a boy or a girl.”

 

Well. That sounds pretty messed up. Jack stays quiet but holds her gaze, giving her permission to keep talking if that’s what she needs to do, as he suspects she might. Carter usually likes to talk, to explain herself well past the point of thorough, and she’s done exactly no talking so far about this, her daughter, her life.

 

“We hadn’t been together very long. I’d already broken it off by the time I found out I was pregnant,” she continues. “When I told him, he tried to… to talk me out of it.” She drops her gaze momentarily, and Jack does his best not to make a face. It's safe to say he’s never had a conversation like this with a subordinate officer before. “But it was my decision to make. I’d always wanted kids and I thought maybe this would be my only chance. When he realized he couldn’t change my mind, he changed tactics."

 

“Changed tactics?"

 

“He likes control. Liked.” She frowns briefly as she adjusts to the need for past tense verbs when talking about the father of her child now. “He couldn’t control whether I kept the baby, so he decided to control both of us through marriage. Of course, I didn’t see it that way at the time. When he proposed, I though he’d changed, I’d hoped…” Carter trails off and her gaze wanders, but not for long. She takes another deep breath and meet Jack’s gaze again. Clearly, she's determined to explain herself, to see this through. “I only wanted what was best for my child. But growing up with no father at all would have been better than growing up with him."

 

Jack nods. “Can’t say I disagree with you on that one, Captain,” he offers. Even having witnessed what transpired on P3X-513, he's sure he doesn't know the half of it.

 

“I said yes to his proposal, and three weeks later, I said no. He was livid. He cut me out entirely. I think he was trying to punish me, but looking back, it was a blessing. By the time I went into labor, I hadn’t heard from him in months. I didn’t contact him. He wasn’t there when Amy was born. His name isn’t on her birth certificate. He has no obligation to her, and no right to her either."

 

That probably means something new now that Hanson is dead and his daughter can’t be his beneficiary, but Jack doesn’t think Carter would've been interested in inheriting his money anyway. So instead of voicing that, he says, “I see.”

 

Carter looks antsy. "I had the chance to end this, Colonel,” she says. "He literally asked me to do it."

 

Jack shrugs. "Killing a man is no badge of honor, Captain."

 

"I know."

 

He feels bad for her, he really does. She doesn’t need his pity right now, obviously, but she also doesn’t need to second-guess the decisions she made. “Look,” he says, “I’m no expert on this.” He waves Hanson’s bible, which he’s been holding. "I generally remember one commandment, and I think it's the first."

 

"I am the Lord your God, and you shall take no other Gods before me?"

 

Jack makes a face. “Ok, it's not the first one. I'm talking about the ‘no killing' one. No matter what the reason, every time you break it, you take one step closer to Hanson.” As someone who’s done his fair share of taking lives, Jack knows how perilously true this can be, and all of a sudden, he feels a little too exposed, a little like he’s confessing. She doesn’t need to know these things about him. She’s his second in command, not his shrink.

 

Thankfully, she simply nods. He hands her Hanson’s bible, but she shakes her head. So he drops it on the ground. Nobody needs that thing anymore anyway.

 

“So,” he says. Time to change the subject. “Amy?"

 

“Yeah,” Carter says, a hesitant smile teasing at her lips. “I usually call her Amy.”

 

“You could’ve said something,” he says. She should’ve said something, probably, given this mission.

 

Carter sticks her chin out a little bit, and it’s clear to Jack that she’s not about to apologize for the oversight. “I know, sir,” she says. “But I wanted the chance to prove myself as an officer before… before you knew…"

 

Ah. Before he knew she was a single mother. Fair enough. For some, especially for some male commanding officers in the military, that sort of thing could be a deal breaker. It isn’t for him, but she doesn’t know him well enough to know that yet.

 

Jack decides that it would perhaps help smooth this moment over if he asked a few polite questions. “How old?” he says.

 

“Fourteen months.” That smile of hers is back again, but Jack balks. Fourteen months. That means… 

 

“Yeah,” Carter says, apparently noticing his surprise. “I was on maternity leave when you guys went to Abydos the first time, Amy was barely a month old. I didn’t even hear the mission was a go until you’d already gone through.”

 

She hasn’t quite pegged the cause of his surprise, but how could she? He’s grateful her brain supplied an explanation nonetheless. He can’t help it, he needs to know, and it’s a safe enough question, right? “When's her birthday?"

 

“June 27.” Jack freezes. It had honestly never occurred to him that a child might be born into the world the day after his own son...

 

But Carter is smiling now, the big kind of smile people make when they find someone they can talk to about the thing in life they love the most. He remembers smiling like that. “Walking?” he manages.

 

“Oh yeah,” she says, “and falling down, but I think it’s half the fun for her really.” She looks down and grins at her hands, like she’s picturing it right now, a little blond baby in a diaper waving her arms and toppling over onto her butt. And suddenly Jack’s own memories are assaulting him, a little boy with fuzzy brown hair and tiny bare feet squealing in delight as he takes one step towards his father, and then another. Jack wants to squeeze his eyes shut. He wants to hit something. Instead he growls out, “That’s a fun age.” 

 

Carter looks up at him. “You have kids, sir?” She seems surprised.

 

“Nah,” he says quickly, taking a step back from her, now very ready to be done with this conversation. He’s ready to be done with this whole damn planet, actually. “Jamala!” he calls out, turning his attention away from Captain Carter. “You guys going to be alright?"

 

Jamala nods and shakes Jack's hand eagerly. “Yes,” he says. "The world outside the caves… it's very big, yes?"

 

“It's bigger then you can imagine,” Daniel replies.

 

Yep, Jack thinks. And sometimes it’s pretty damn small too.

 

 

 


	4. Cold Lazarus

Sam stands in the gate room and watches her CO walk through the Stargate, holding hands with a crystalline alien life form that has fashioned itself to look exactly like his dead son. Colonel O’Neill seems strangely calm as he measures his gait to match that of the boy. Together, they disappear through the event horizon. Sam watches the gate deactivate. Then she turns, walks in careful, measured steps to the nearest bathroom, and throws up. 

 

 

___

 

 

It's late when the crystal thing that looks like Charlie nearly blows up a hospital and god knows what else. It's even later when Jack escorts him - it - back to its planet of origin. And it's later still when Jack knocks on the door of his former house to talk to his former wife about what the hell just happened. 

 

By the time he gets back home, to his new house, the house that's only his, it feels like days have passed, maybe years. There's no moon tonight and no clouds to reflect the light pollution from the city, and he supposes that he shouldn't be surprised that the darkness feels darker than usual, and thicker, harder to breathe. 

 

He's also not surprised to see a lone figure sitting on his doorstep.

 

"You could've let yourself in," he grunts as he walks past and opens the unlocked door.

 

"I know," Daniel shrugs. "But I thought you might be in the kind of mood where if I startle you, you'd punch me in the face." 

 

That's a good point, actually. Daniel rubs his face a little bit, as if anticipating that he still might not be in the clear. 

 

Jack steps aside to let Daniel walk past him into the house. "Beer?" 

 

"No thanks." Daniel holds up a brown paper bag that Jack had failed to notice. "I come bearing gifts." 

 

Jack can't quite bring himself to be interested but follows Daniel into the kitchen nonetheless. "I finally found something that reminds me of what we used to drink back on Abydos," he says, pulling two glasses out of the cupboard and setting them down on the counter with a clink. He opens the bag and pulls out a bottle of dark amber liquid.

 

"Cheap bourbon?” Jack makes a face.

 

"Yeah," Daniel says, either not noticing or choosing to ignore the implied insult in Jack's comment as he pops the top off the bottle and pours two glasses. "It's just a little too sweet and it really burns going down." He smiles broadly and hands Jack a glass.

 

Jack's not sure he should be drinking bourbon right now, cheap or otherwise, but he's definitely sure he shouldn't be drinking alone. He accepts the glass and walks himself back to the living room, taking a seat on the couch.

 

Daniel sits down next to him. "So," he says, "what did you tell Sara?"

 

Jack closes his eyes briefly and remembers her face, and her beautiful, understanding eyes, so full of pain and so full of resolve. He opens his eyes again and looks at the glass in his hand, swirling the liquid around a little. 

 

"I told her everything," he says. He told her about the Stargate, the planet, the weird crystal things that read his mind and tried to fix him. He told her about Abydos and the first mission. Everything. 

 

Daniel nods, like he expected this. Because what else could Jack have told her, really? How could he, or the Air Force, or anyone, refuse her an explanation? And what cover story could even come close to explaining away what she'd seen today?

 

"Did she believe you?"

 

Jack shrugs. He thinks she probably did. It's too crazy a story for him to have just made it up. The barrage of NDAs she'll have to sign tomorrow will only serve to support his claims. 

 

"Hammond's going to flip out."

 

Daniel is grinning and Jack scoffs. He doesn't give a damn what Hammond thinks, and if Hammond, or anyone else, tries to dress him down for telling Sara about the Stargate program, then he will lose his shit on them. The Air Force saw fit to use his son's death as an opportunity to recruit him for a suicide mission, and he's going to tell whatever he wants to the woman who was his son's mother, to the woman who was his wife. 

 

Daniel is quiet for a while, as if sensing the storm that's brewing. Jack kind of hopes someone does try to dress him down, actually. It might feel good to lose his shit on something right about now.

 

"I asked her to take me back," Jack says quietly, still staring at the bourbon in his glass. Though of course he knew better, part of him couldn’t help but feel like he’d lost Charlie all over again today. He was grasping, desperate. He’d practically begged.

 

"What did she say?" Daniel prompts softly. It's a question that doesn't need asking, of course, because if she had said anything other than what she did, he wouldn't be clutching a glass of cheap bourbon, sitting with Daniel on his couch right now in the house that’s only his. 

 

But it's permission to continue talking. Jack takes a breath and remembers again the look in her eyes. "She said no." Of course she said no. Jack may be able to travel among the stars but it doesn't change a damn thing between them. It doesn't change what happened to Charlie. Nothing can change that.

 

"I'm sorry," Daniel says. 

 

Jack nods, and they sit in silence for long minutes. Jack is deeply relieved that Daniel is going to leave it at this and not push him to talk more. He looks over at his friend, so mired in his own loss, his own desperate quest to reclaim the happiness he'd once had, the blissful ignorance of never knowing what it feels like to lose everything. But unlike Charlie, Sha’re is still out there somewhere. Unlike for Jack, for Daniel, there is still hope. 

 

"Hey," he says, lifting his glass a little. "Cheers."  He pauses for a second and then adds, “to Abydos."

 

“Yeah,” Daniel says, lifting his glass too. “To Charlie."

 

Together they drink.

 

Jack nearly spits his drink out. “God,” he says. “This is terrible.”

 

“Yeah,” Daniel says with an air of nostalgia, “it really is."

 

 

—

 

 

Like most of the teams, SG-1 usually eats lunch together even when they aren’t on a mission. Swapping stories and gently teasing each other over lukewarm commissary mashed potatoes is as much of an exercise in team building as being chased across unfamiliar terrain by a band of angry natives, without all the pesky risk of alien viruses and sprained ankles the latter option imparts.

 

But for the last week or so - ever since the incident with the crystalline entity, if Sam is being honest with herself - lunchtime has been anything but genial. Instead of friendly sarcasm and comfortable banter, SG-1’s table is tense and quiet. Today, Sam stares intently at her creamed corn, stealing occasional glances at the Colonel, who in turn inhales his lunch as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks, or perhaps as if he can't wait to get out of the commissary. Shoveling the last bite into his mouth, he pushes himself up from his chair and mumbles an excuse about paperwork. Teal’c follows close behind, the Colonel’s departure effectively dismissing the rest of them.

 

“Sam,” Daniel says once they’re alone. “You have to stop looking at him like that.” 

 

Sam looks up from her study of her corn. “Like what?"

 

Daniel sighs, but he doesn’t beat around the bush. “Like he’s broken. Like he just lost his kid."

 

Sam’s gaze drops back down to her plate. “I know,” she admits. “It’s just… I keep thinking… Daniel, I don’t know if I could survive that."

 

Daniel nods, a knowing look on his face. “He almost didn’t, you know."

 

Sam’s eyes widen, and she bites back the urge to beg him for details. Curiosity has been clawing at her from the inside ever since she learned that the Colonel lost his son, and _how_ he lost his son.

 

“Oh come on,” Daniel says, seemingly annoyed at having to spell this out for her. “You’re as familiar with that first mission to Abydos as I am. You know what the objective was. Why do you think they picked Jack?"

 

Sam is familiar with the first mission to Abydos alright. She's read the file several times, she's poured over it. Colonel Jonathan J. O’Neill was reported to have been selected to lead the mission because of his “unique experiences and qualifications.” She's also read the Colonel’s personnel file, and with the places he’s been and so many of the details redacted, she’d always assumed the experiences and qualifications were hidden somewhere in there. Never did she imagine that the experiences were not military but personal, and that the qualification was that he had lost his will to live.

 

“Oh my god,” she says to Daniel as the pieces slide into place. “They knew what had happened. They assumed he was suicidal. They used it as an opportunity…” she trails off, feeling disgusted and strangely guilty, as if her involvement in the program at the Pentagon back then somehow makes her complicit in the whole thing.

 

“Obviously, things turned out better for Jack than the higher ups had planned,” Daniel continues. “He’s a different man than he was when I first met him, before we first stepped through that gate.”

 

“But how?” Sam asks the question before she can stop herself. But she has to know how he ended up changed for the better and not lost at the wrong end of a nuke. Did the Stargate itself reawaken his sense of wonder? Did commanding a top-secret mission give him a renewed sense of purpose? Did traveling through a wormhole to a planet on the other side of the galaxy widen the scope of his universe enough to make him feel awe, or even hope? What could possibly pull a person back from the brink of oblivion and over the loss of their only child?

 

Daniel shrugs, as if the question Sam has just asked doesn’t have anything at all to do with the purpose and meaning of life itself. “That’s not really my story to tell,” he says. “But you have to stop looking at Jack like that.” 

 

“How should I look at him?” Sam is almost whispering. She's stunned at this new understanding of why Jack was chosen for the first mission, baffled by his current ability to function, and totally at a loss as to how to move forward. 

 

“Like you always do,” Daniel says. “With respect. With frustration, sometimes. But not with pity. Never with pity.” 

 

Sam nods slowly. She can do that. She can try.

 

 

—

 

 

That afternoon holds an exceedingly frustrating show-and-tell with David Swift, the Secretary of Defense, who seems remarkably unimpressed that the Air Force can now travel almost instantaneously to dozens of planets across the galaxy. His goading and thinly veiled threats spur an impromptu briefing on their potential new mission to P3X-774, wherein Teal’c explains more about the Goa’uld and their search for an elusive technology that can make you invisible. It is decided that SG-1 will depart at 0800 the next morning to see whether the planet might yield something capable of impressing Secretary Swift.

 

The briefing ends and everyone files out of the room. Sam gathers her papers and makes to do the same but she’s stopped by Colonel O’Neill, standing between her and the door. 

 

“A word, Captain?”

 

Sam nods, pushing down her nerves, and follows him back to the table, taking a seat as he does. He pushes his chair back from the table and turns it so he’s facing her, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers tapping together. Sam recognizes the posture, a strong defensive position trying to pass as casual. She waits for him to speak.

 

“Daniel tells me he took it upon himself to have a little chat with you."

 

Sam tries not to grimace, suddenly regretting everything she so desperately asked of Daniel and wondering what, exactly, he told the Colonel. “Word travels fast,” she manages, her face tight.

 

“Yes, well, clearly our resident busy-body needs more alien thingys to translate to keep him occupied,” he says, rolling his eyes.

 

Sam straightens. “I owe you an apology, sir -“ she begins, but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

 

“Carter, I’m not gunning for an apology here. I just thought we should talk."

 

That sounds foreboding. “Talk?” she says, her eyes widening involuntarily.

 

The Colonel sighs. “Look, this is really not my thing. Talking.” He grimaces for a moment, as if to demonstrate his discomfort. “But we need to be able to work together,” he waves his hand back and forth between them, “and our jobs are weird enough that I don’t want any room for other weird… stuff.”

 

Sam nods attentively, not at all sure where he's going with this.

 

“So,” he pauses. “Is there anything we need to talk about?”

 

“No, sir.” Her response is automatic, even though she’s practically exploding with things she wants to talk to him about.

 

“Sam,” he says, his voice dropping a bit, “I’m not going to make this offer again.”

 

 _Once is hard enough_ , she realizes with a start. Ok, she decides. If he's going to call her by her first name and offer to talk, in sincerity, then she isn't going to do him the disservice of blowing him off. She remembers Daniel’s words at lunch: _never with pity_. She takes a deep breath.

 

“How did you come back from Abydos?”

 

The Colonel sits up straight, and Sam cringes. Too personal, she’s taken it too far. And from his posture, she can be certain that he won’t respond with a nice, safe, sarcastic, “through the Stargate, just like you did.” 

 

“You don’t have to answer that, sir,” she says, backtracking.

 

“Yeah, I think I do,” he says. He sits quietly for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts, and when he begins to speak, his voice is low but steady and strong. “It was a lot of things. Skaara."

 

“Skaara?"

 

The Colonel nods. “He had this way about him, he was so full of life…” He trails off with a small shrug, and then nods to himself and continues, holding his hands tightly in his lap. “He wasn’t at all like Charlie, he was older, and… alien…er. But I don’t know, spending time with a kid again, a funny, smiley kid… it just… it changed something. And when it got to the part of the mission where I was supposed to blow myself up, I realized I didn’t really want to.”

 

Skaara. Wow. Sam can’t quite believe the Colonel actually said all this, out loud, and to her. She feels more than a little overwhelmed by what this says about his respect for her as an officer, or as a teammate, or maybe as a fellow parent. But this isn’t about her right now. “Skaara,” she says, trying to process this new information and what it means for the Colonel’s quest to save the Abydonian boy now that he’s been made host to a Goa’uld.

 

“And Daniel,” the Colonel admits, “But don’t ever tell him I said that. You know how he’s always…” he waves his hand around in the air, “not wanting people to die and stuff.”

 

Daniel. Wow. Sam has to remind herself to take a breath. This is the Colonel, her Colonel, her commanding officer, but it’s a side of him she didn’t think she had the right to see, especially not after only a couple of months. Then again, this job is unlike any other she’s ever had, and maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised at the intensity with which she and her teammates need to know and trust each other.

 

“I’m telling you this,” he continues in a steady voice, “because I need you to know that I’m not a loose cannon, I don’t have a death wish, not for myself or our team or our planet or anything. I need you to trust that, to trust me."

 

Sam nods, because what words could she possibly say out loud in response to something like that? She does trust him. She always has.

 

“So?” he finally asks. “Are we ok?”

 

Sam wills herself to speak, to say something, anything. She opens her mouth to reply in the affirmative but a question comes out instead: “Am I doing the right thing?"

 

She clamps her mouth shut and feels a wave of panic wash over her. She definitely hadn’t intended to say that out loud. But it's the companion question to the one she’s already asked. It’s the question that will be keeping her awake at night, the question that already does.

 

For his part, the Colonel sighs and leans forward again, his elbows back on his knees and his hands held loosely between them, a slightly less defensive variation on his early posture.

 

“If you’re asking me if I would be going through the gate if Charlie were still alive, I can’t answer that,” he says. “If Charlie were still alive, they never would’ve asked me to go to Abydos the first time. And if I hadn’t gone the first time, they sure as hell wouldn’t have asked me now.” Sam makes a disbelieving face, which he apparently interprets as such, because he huffs and continues, “I’m just a soldier. There are dozens of soldiers just like me. Any one of them could lead a team through the gate just as well or poorly as I do.”

 

“That’s not true, sir.” 

 

He scoffs. “Thank you, but it is. You, on the other hand…"

 

“Me what?” Wow, her mouth is really speaking of its own volition today.

 

The Colonel considers her for a moment. “You… make your own decisions,” he finally says. “But I don’t know anyone who can do the kinds of things I’ve seen you do.”

 

Sam doesn't know whether to feel honored or terrified.

 

“That’s why you’re my second in command,” he says carefully, “and why it’s important to me that we’re ok.” He gestures between them, sitting up straight in a move that seems to herald an end to their discussion. “Are we? Ok?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, and this time, she means it.

 

“Good,” he says. “Because I really want to be done having this conversation.” He taps his hands on his legs and stands up, eyeing the exit longingly.

 

Sam stands too. “Thank you, sir,” she says, holding his gaze.

 

“Don’t mention it, Captain,” he says. He grimaces in a manner that she suspects is only halfway joking as his gaze drifts back to the exit. “Seriously. Don’t."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode just broke my heart, seeing how Jack lost not only his son but also what appeared to be a happy marriage, hence my approach to Sara in this chapter. But don't worry, she doesn't really come up again in this fic (brief cameo late season 3).
> 
> I hope you know and trust that all this "getting to know you" stuff in early season one is going to pay dividends in shippy-ness later on...
> 
> PS thanks everyone for all your nice comments!! I've been working on this fic for a long time (feels like a long time at least!) and it's so fun for me to finally be sharing it. Thanks!!! :)


	5. Brief Candle

Sam feels a weight off her shoulders now that her team knows about Amy. She’d worried that even just the idea of her as a mom would be a distraction for them, would impact or somehow hinder their every interaction with her. But she’s discovering that on the contrary, with her secret out in the open, she’s much more free to focus on the tasks at hand. She hadn’t really realized how preoccupied she’d been, constantly worried about whether she’d said too much, wondering what they all might say if they found out.

 

As for Amy, she’s got more and more to say every day. “Tee tee!” she says excitedly, pointing to Jane’s yellow cat, Erwin, as he deftly avoids Amy’s sticky fingers and drooly face on his way to the stairs. Amy is obsessed with this cat, always trying to kiss him or grab a handful of his fur, and now she runs and follows him to the stairs, finger still pointing and arm still outstretched, a gleeful look on her face.

 

Sam scoops her up just as she reaches the first step. “Yep, that’s the kitty,” she says. “But we’re not going upstairs right now, ok?” Erwin watches from the fifth step, looking smug.

 

Amy squirms and kicks her legs as Sam walks purposefully back to the kitchen, ignoring the small girl’s protests.

 

In the kitchen, Sam’s sister-in-law Heather is standing at the peninsula counter where Kyle and Gus, Amy’s older cousins, sit on stools on the other side, calmly eating their grapes.

 

“Tell me she’s going to grow out of this phase soon,” Sam says tiredly to Heather as she places Amy back on her stool. Amy notices with delight the bowl of grapes in front of her, the grapes she’d only recently abandoned in pursuit of poor Erwin.

 

“The running up the stairs phase? Or the terrorizing the cat phase?” Heather says. “Though the answer is no to both.”

 

Sam chuckles and slices Amy’s grapes in quarters. Next to Amy, Gus, who’s 20 months old now, is popping whole grapes in his mouth himself.

 

“How do you know when you can stop cutting up their grapes?” Sam wonders out loud. She’s got field medic training but she does not ever, ever want to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on her 15 month-old child.

 

Heather shrugs. “You just know,” she says, completely unhelpfully. Sam slumps a bit, she thinks she might be slicing Amy’s grapes until she’s in college. Heather nudges Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, as if she’s reading her mind. “You will.”

 

Sam has been surprised to discover over the last couple months of living in Colorado Springs that she actually really likes her brother’s wife. It’s not that she’d _dis_ liked Heather before - they’ve known each other a long time, since they were all in high school - it’s just that Sam always kind of assumed that anyone who wanted to marry her brother must secretly be an uptight pain in the ass, like he can be. But Heather is proving to be completely different from Mark. A dental hygienist, she’d gone back to work three months after Gus was born, and then three months later, she left her job again to stay home with her boys full-time.

 

Jane and Amy get together with Heather and her kids pretty regularly, maybe once every week or two, so Amy is now comfortable with all of them. Less frequently, but every now and then, there are days like today, a Tuesday, which Sam has off because she’s got mission later this week that’s scheduled to have her off-world for two nights in a row. So Jane is off getting her hair done and Sam is spending some time with Heather, just two moms having an afternoon snack with their kids.

 

“More,” Amy says, pointing insistently at the counter in front of her, and Sam passes her another quartered grape.

 

“Here you go,” Sam says. She’s learning from watching her mom that it’s important to engage in this sort of back-and-forth dialogue with Amy, because the number of words she can say right now is nothing compared to the number of words she understands.

 

“Thank you,” Amy says with a grin. By vowels and consonants, it doesn’t sound much like “thank you” at all, but it’s two syllables long and she says it in the exact same sing-song tone Jane uses when she says it to her.

 

“You’re welcome,” Sam says. Amy uses “thank you” to mean not only thank you, but also “you’re welcome,” and, most importantly, “give me that right now.”

 

Still, Sam smiles proudly when Heather remarks, “She’s so polite.” It really is fascinating to watch Amy learn language, among the many, many things she’s learning right now. Like how to climb the stairs.

 

“My dad put in a gate at the top of the stairs when he was home last week,” Sam says, “so at least she won’t fall down the whole flight from the top.”

 

Sam didn’t have mom friends back in DC, she just dropped Amy off at daycare in the morning and picked her up in the evening, but she thinks it’s probably normal for conversations between mom friends to happen in small chunks between slices of grapes.

 

“That was nice of your dad,” Heather remarks.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, though she feels kind of strange about her parents making modifications to their house to accommodate her and her daughter. It’s generous of them, of course, and Jane has been the one offering at every turn to do these things - install a heavy-duty baby gate, put child safety locks on the kitchen drawers and cabinets, get step stools for the bathroom by the sink, things like that. Still, Sam can’t help but feel like she’s putting them out. Her mom has never once complained, and Sam believes her when she says she’s happy to have someone else knocking around the big old house with her. Her dad has made a few comments that could be interpreted as snide, though Sam suspects they’re directed more at the nature of her work in Colorado Springs than at her living arrangement.

 

“You feeling settled yet?” Heather asks.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says again, trying to sound more confident with this one. It’s been a couple months, they should be settled by now. The Air Force shipped her stuff from DC and she put most of the furniture into storage, but she and Amy have officially taken over the two extra bedrooms upstairs, the ones that used to be a guest room and an office.

 

Maybe someday she and Amy will get their own place. Maybe when they’re not at war with the Goa’uld.

 

At the moment, Amy is not at all interested in Sam and Heather’s attempt, however stilted, to have an adult conversation. “More,” she says again, and Sam quickly quarters another grape, but not quickly enough. Amy, impatient, reaches over and swipes one of Gus’s grapes, popping it in her mouth whole before Sam can intercept.

 

“Amy!” Sam exclaims. This girl is way to fast for someone with no understanding of her own mortality.

 

But Amy chews happily on the grape, swallowing it without event, and Sam sighs with relief, until she notices that Gus looks like he’s about blow his top. Heather also notices, and miraculously produces three more grapes out of nowhere, setting them in front of him just in time to avoid an international incident.

 

“I don’t know how you do this,” Sam admits. “I don’t know how my mom does this.” Sam herself spends so much time chasing Amy around the house, trying to stop her from running into chairs, or sticking her fingers in electrical outlets, or eating cat food, or crayons, or garbage. It’s exhausting. She can’t imagine having two kids, like Heather, or being twice as old as she is now, like Jane.

 

And it never ceases to amaze her that she can be so exasperated with this small person and so completely in love with her at the same time.

 

Heather just laughs again, and Sam thinks that must be one of the secrets of moms who haven’t totally lost their shit: they can just laugh at pretty much anything. “Did I tell you Gus is tall enough to reach the knob on his bedroom door now?” Sam shakes her head in horror. Kyle and Amy are both on the slightly larger side of the bell curve of children’s average sizes, but Gus is huge. “He woke up from his nap the other day and just walked out into the hallway.”

 

“Oh my god,” Sam says. She imagines Amy would’ve gone straight for the stairs, and that brand new, heavy-duty baby gate would’ve been wide open to accommodate Erwin, and Sam wouldn’t have even known Amy was awake until it was too late.

 

“Yeah,” Heather says. “God, they grow up so fast.” And she chuckles to herself, like it’s no big deal. Sam is still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that Amy will someday be able to open doors of her own volition. “Your mom is really something though,” Heather continues. “I learn so much from her.”

 

Sam nods knowingly. She reaches into a drawer to get a washcloth for Amy, who’s done with her grapes and sticky all over now. “I don’t know what I’d do without her,” Sam says, honestly.

 

At that moment, they hear the garage door start to open.

 

“Nana!” Amy squeals, recognizing the sound. She dangles her leg precipitously off the edge of the stool and looks meaningfully at Sam. “All done,” she says, declaring her intent to throw herself off the stool, and Sam understands that it’s now up to her to intervene appropriately. She hoists Amy off the stool, and Amy runs for the door to greet Nana, sticky fingers and all. Sam and Heather exchange a smile as Gus and Kyle follow close behind.

 

 

—

 

 

The work itself has improved too. After that disastrously unproductive first month, SG-1 has been making what feels like progress in Earth’s first foray into interstellar relations. They meet a technologically advanced race called the Nox, who, while unwilling to share their technology, at least prove that the Goa’uld are not the most powerful beings in the galaxy.

 

And then there are the Asgard, whom they haven’t exactly met but whose remarkable de-Goa’uld-ing technology they quite unfortunately have to destroy in order to save Teal’c’s life on a planet called Cimmeria. Cimmeria is proof again that beings more powerful than the Goa’uld exist, and, even more significantly, that the Goa’uld host survives, and can be rehabilitated.

 

Sam finds she can’t stop thinking about Thor’s Hammer. She wishes she’d gotten a better look at it before they’d had to blast it to pieces, not that the alien crystals mean anything to her anyway. Not yet, they don’t, she thinks. She should’ve at least taken pictures or something. Still, it gives her hope in a way the Nox didn’t, because this advanced race of aliens _is,_ or at least was, invested in fighting against the Goa’uld.

 

The SGC has even started doing experiments on Teal’c to see if there are ways to support his immune system without the presence of a larval Goa’uld. Freeing the Jaffa of their need for Goa’uld symbiotes is a critical step in rallying the Jaffa against their masters. Nothing has been successful so far, but no one is more committed to finding a solution than Teal’c himself. Sam finds herself feeling hopeful, again, which is an unexpected but very much welcome emotion in this climate of secret war.

 

It’s not all sunshine and roses though. In the midst of these more or less positive developments, the team has their worst encounter yet on P3X-8596, a planet known to the locals as Argos. Even Sam, who remembers the Shavadai on Simarka and the Touched virus in the Land of Light all too vividly, would not argue with the assessment that Argos represents an all-time low for SG-1.

 

She knows they’re in for trouble the second they rematerialize on the other side of the wormhole and find themselves in a temple where, of all things, a woman is giving birth. Three sets of male eyes turn to her expectantly. “Don’t look at me,” she says, annoyed. “I got an epidural.”

 

“Surely you have some idea of what’s supposed to be happening,” the Colonel says with a grimace, like the very idea of childbirth is beneath him. But she knows that he had a child once too, and that child must have been born at some point.

 

So Sam shrugs and shakes her head. “You probably had a better view of things than I did, sir,” she dares to say. It’s not that Sam doesn’t want to help this woman, but honestly, she didn’t even watch the videos. She just trusted that the doctors had watched the videos, and made sure to get herself to the hospital at the very first sign of labor. And it’s not like they covered childbirth in field medic training.

 

“I don’t know,” he replies. “It was kind of hard to see much of anything from where I was stationed overseas.”

 

Sam reddens and the Colonel rolls his eyes and Daniel steps in with some limited experience and a calming demeanor that, more than anything else, is actually productive.

 

Their ensuing friendship with the people of this strange planet proves a most unfortunate turn, as the Colonel gets drugged by a young and pretty local. Technically, Sam doesn’t know _exactly_ what went on between them, but it doesn’t take much imagination to guess. His subsequent rapid aging and near death, coupled with the realization that he had, in fact, been drugged, makes her feel bad for assuming that he was the kind of man who’d do that sort of thing, run off with a local for a quick fuck in the middle of a mission. It makes her wish she would’ve acted sooner.

 

Sure enough, once the whole ordeal is over - the Colonel returned to his normal age and Dr. Fraiser satisfied that he’s in the clear - he calls the whole team over to his house for another team night, though it feels more like a summons.

 

This time, Teal’c is permitted to leave the base and attend, on the condition that he remain in the Colonel’s custody. And this time, they eat inside. Sam looks around the Colonel’s living room as they sit quietly, waiting for the pizza to arrive, and she notices with some surprise the pictures of a smiling, sandy-haired boy that adorn the mantle and the walls. She recognizes Charlie because he looks just like the alien entity, and she recognizes him because he looks just like his dad.

 

The pizza arrives and the Colonel stands at his dining room table with the boxes stacked in front of him. He waits for everyone to take their seats before he begins.

 

“I hope to god we will never have to speak of this mission again,” he says, his jaw tight. “But I would like to be very clear about one thing: if I ever, ever run off to shack up with some local chick at any point while we’re off-world or otherwise on duty, you are all to immediately assume that I have been drugged or that something is very wrong and respond accordingly.”

 

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Daniel speaks up, to Sam’s relief. Someone should say something, and she really doesn’t want it to have to be her. “Jack,” he says, “I’m sor-“

 

“Ah!” the Colonel cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it, Daniel. I honestly don’t want to even think about it. I know we haven’t all been working together all that long, and maybe you feel like you don’t know me very well, but know me better, ok? Know that that’s not the kind of thing I do.”

 

Teal’c nods one steady, solemn nod, and Sam nods too, somewhat more frantically, because she’s feeling what Daniel’s feeling. Teal’c is from another planet, from a place where things are different, so he doesn’t know, he’s not expected to. But Sam is Air Force and Daniel is the Colonel’s friend. They should’ve realized something was wrong as soon as Kynthia lead the Colonel away from them, a dopey grin on his face. Maybe they could’ve intervened in time to prevent this whole episode from ever happening.

 

“I really am sorry, Jack,” Daniel says.

 

“I swear to god, Daniel,” the Colonel says, gripping the edge of the table and scowling menacingly at the boxes of pizza. He’d said he didn’t want to hear about it.

 

It’s tensely quiet for another moment until Teal’c speaks. “You must excuse him, O’Neill,” he says. “As I was only recently reminded, the very young do not always do as they are told.”

 

This gentle joke at Daniel’s expense, harkening back to a happier, more hopeful mission, succeeds in breaking the tension in the room, which Sam suspects is exactly what Teal’c had hoped to do.

 

“Fine,” the Colonel says. He releases his death grip on the table and points at Daniel. “You go get me another beer, we’ll call it forgiven.” Daniel scurries away into the kitchen and returns with fresh beers for the Colonel, Sam, and himself, and another 2-liter bottle of Sprite for Teal’c. They sit in the dining room and eat pizza straight out of the box, occasionally wiping their fingers and mouths on the scratchy napkins the pizza place provided. Sam had thought four pizzas seemed excessive, but now she sees how much Teal’c can put away. As it is, there’s nothing leftover.

 

They all file out of the house together once the food is gone, the Colonel included, since he’s responsible for giving Teal’c a ride back to the base. Sam pauses as she passes him to walk to her car parked at the end of his driveway. He said he didn’t want to talk about it, but she’s got to say it anyway.

 

“I’m sorry too, sir,” she says. “About Argos.”

 

The Colonel sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “I’m just glad you figured it out, Captain,” he says.

 

“Actually, you’re the one who figured it out, sir. I mean, I discovered the nanocytes but you’re the one who stopped them from functioning.” Unwittingly, maybe, but still.

 

“Well then I’m glad it’s behind us, Captain,” he says, shifting his feet like he can’t wait to walk away from this conversation to the relative safety of his truck and his one non-Tau’ri teammate. “Can it please be behind us?”

 

“I’ll do better next time, sir,” she spits out hurriedly. “Not that there’s going to be a next time, sir. I just mean, I’ll do better.”

 

He sighs again. “I know, Carter,” he says. “I’ll do better too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time, where we learn about SG-1's third and final secret child, and where Jack finally meets Sam's kid.........


	6. Bloodlines

Jack calls Daniel and Carter to Teal’c’s quarters and cuts straight to the chase. 

 

“Good news, folks. It’s a boy."

 

“What?” Daniel asks, his eyebrows furrowed behind his big round glasses.

 

“Teal’c. He’s got a kid."

 

Carter lets out a low whistle. No doubt that brilliant brain of hers is already putting together the whats and whys of this new twist.

 

Teal’c turns his stoic gaze to each of his team members, one at a time.

 

“Wow,” Daniel says. “That’s surprising."

 

Jack doesn't particularly think so. In fact, in retrospect, he kind of thinks they should have expected it. 

 

“So, while we’re all here, are any other surprise children on this team we need to know about?” Jack asks. Two sets of nerdy blue eyes snap to his and narrow slightly. But he needs something to remind them they’re all in this together, and he doesn’t mind coming across as kind of an ass to achieve it. “Carter? Amy have any secret siblings? Daniel? Any half-Abydonians with bad eyesight running around out there?"

 

“No, Jack, my wife and I always dreamed of having kids but hadn’t gotten to it by the time she was abducted by Apophis. Thanks for asking,” Daniel scoffs. 

 

“Amy was’t a secret, sir” Carter corrects him. “It just… didn’t come up."

 

Good, they’re both annoyed at him instead of Teal’c.

 

“Right,” he says sarcastically. “Same here.” Charlie didn’t come up either, until he did, of course. And now they’re all on the same page.

 

“I intentionally concealed the existence of my offspring from all of you,” Teal’c says, speaking up at last.

 

Jack sighs. He gets it, he really does. From a military perspective, having kids makes you weak, compromised, and risky, because you love your kid more than your mission or your country, more than your team, more than your life. You’re loyal to your kid before anything else. He has no doubt that the US Air Force would’ve felt differently about Teal’c had they known he has a kid on another planet, and if Jack had been in Teal’c position, he probably would’ve done the same thing Teal’c did.

 

They’re all quiet for a few breaths. Carter finally breaks the silence. “What’s his name?” Leave it to her to ask a thoughtful question.

 

“His name is Rya’c, and he is about to come of age and undergo the Primta."

 

“The ceremony of implantation,” Daniel practically whispers in that awestruck tone he gets for just about everything.

 

“Teal’c’s got to head back to Chulak to see to his kid, and stop this Primta thing,” Jack explains. “And we’re going with him."

 

“Sir, there’s no way General Hammond will allow that,” Carter says, shaking her head. “It might not even be in his hands."

 

“There _is_  a way,” Jack insists. “We just need to find it. So I need you,” he motions at Carter and Daniel, "to put your genius brains together and figure out why SG-1 needs to go back to Chulak, like, yesterday.” Hammond had already shot down Teal’c’s plan to return to Chulak and retrieve Goa’uld symbiotes for study. They need something more compelling. 

 

No one understands more than Jack what it means when you fail to protect your child. He’s going to do everything he can to make sure things turn out differently for Teal’c and his family.

 

 

—

 

 

Jack is starting to learn that he needs to give Hammond more credit. SG-1 had put forth their best argument for a return trip to Chulak - Daniel and Carter had sold it pretty well, actually - and Hammond had seen right through them but authorized the mission anyway once he learned the truth. Maybe next time, they’ll just start with the truth and trust Hammond to make the right call. At any rate, they’ve come a long way from lying about nuking Abydos.

 

The mission is a spectacular failure. At least everyone is alive, though Rya’c is now sporting a plus one. And Daniel shot up a whole fish tank full of larval Goa’uld. And Teal’c nearly died. And honestly he and Dray’auc didn’t seem like they were doing so hot, though that shouldn’t be surprising, given the circumstances of their marriage since Teal’c's defection.

 

They trudge back through the gate, exhausted and somber. As team leader, there’s really only one thing Jack can do now. “Alright, folks,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Team night. My place. One hour.” He’ll talk to Hammond and recommend they debrief in the morning, after everyone’s had a chance to collect themselves.

 

Daniel exhales and nods, heading wearily off to the infirmary. Teal’c is already on his way there, apparently not in the mood for post-mission chit chat. Only Carter lingers.

 

“Sir,” she begins hesitantly. “Would it be alright if I stopped by my house first? I, uh, I just want to see Amy. So I’d be a little late."

 

Ah. Amy. Of course. After a mission like this, Carter would want to go home and hug her kid. She probably wants to actually spend time with her kid too. She probably feels that way after most missions. Jack knows he sure would. She’s been a sport about team nights so far, and it never really occurred to him before that for as much as she surely loves hanging out with her coworkers after work, it’s cutting into her already limited and very precious family time. It’s early enough in the evening that their team night won’t run late, but it will likely last past bedtime for a one and a half year old.

 

“First of all, Carter,” he says, “I know I made that invitation sound like an order, but team nights are always strictly voluntary."

 

She nods, a bit too earnestly, like she doesn’t actually believe him. He’s been there before, a junior officer trying to figure out which extracurricular activities are actually optional and which ones are secretly required when you’re trying to prove yourself.

 

“And second of all,” he pauses, suddenly coming up with an idea, “why don’t you just bring her along?”

 

She looks genuinely surprised, for which he mentally congratulates himself. It’s always nice to catch off-guard someone as brilliant as his second in command. “Oh,” she says. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea, sir?"

 

“I’m sure all my ideas are good, Carter.” It’s not like they sit around swearing and getting shit-faced. They don’t even usually stay very late.

 

“Yes sir, it’s just… with what happened today, with Teal’c’s son, maybe he doesn’t need to be forced to spend time with someone else’s kid."

 

But Jack doesn’t share her concern. In fact, ever since he came up with the idea out of nowhere a few seconds ago, he’s been getting more and more excited about it. “Or maybe it’s _exactly_  what he needs,” he says with a smile.

 

Carter still looks wary. “I’d hate for us to impose, sir."

 

Jack puts his hands on her shoulders. “Carter, if you want to go home and hang out with your kid, do it, I mean it. The rest of us are having a team night, and you and Amy are both invited. Your call.” He nods and releases her. She looks thoughtful, like she’s actually considering his offer. He tries not to get too hopeful.

 

“Ok,” she says.

 

“Ok? You’ll come?"

 

“Yeah. We’ll come."

 

“Good!” Jack turns and starts walking to the infirmary for his post-mission eval, with Carter falling in step beside him, like she always does. It occurs to him that he hasn’t entertained a toddler in, well, in a very long time. “So… how does Amy like her steak?"

 

Carter chuckles. “Actually, she eats almost anything. I’m sure she’d like steak. But I’ll bring something for her, you don’t have to worry about it, sir."

 

Jack nods. “And does she drink Guinness? Or is she more of an IPA kinda girl? Because I’ve got some fancy stuff Daniel left after our last team night that might be up her alley."

 

Carter laughs at this, a genuine laugh. Jack smiles. Yep, a cute little toddler is _exactly_ what his team needs right now. This is definitely the best idea he’s had in a long time.

 

 

—

 

 

This is a terrible idea, Sam thinks to herself as she fills a sippy cup with whole milk and shoves it in the side pocket of the diaper bag. Next to her, her mom packages up some leftover mac and cheese and carrots in small containers.

 

“Sam, honey, you’re fretting."

 

Sam throws up her arms in exasperation, nearly knocking the milk off the counter but recovering just in time. “Of course I’m fretting, mom.” Nearby, Amy has been playing with her shoes under the pretense of putting them on, and the shoe in her right hand has just started on a slow but deliberate trajectory to her mouth. “Amy, sweetie, don’t eat your shoes please,” Sam says, abandoning her packing to intercept the shoe before her daughter can lick it. Amy frowns, but then throws her shoe at the door with a grin.

 

“Tell me what you’re worried about."

 

“What if Amy gets cranky and throws a fit? Or what if she’s clingy and I spend the whole time we’re there trying to get her to say hello? What if she gets into stuff at Colonel O’Neill’s house? What if she breaks something? Or gets hurt?” Sam sighs. “What if they don’t like her? Or what if they don’t like me when I’m with her?” _Me as a mom_ , Sam thinks. It's something they’ve never seen. She has this horrible image of the guys sitting around in chairs drinking beers and wordlessly watching Sam chase after Amy on the floor. What if, instead of building bridges between her and her teammates, this puts up new walls? She’s worked so hard to make sure they see her as an equal in the field, but what if meeting Amy imprints on their brains an image of Sam with a baby that they just can’t shake? 

 

“Oh sweetie,” her mom says, rubbing a hand on Sam's back. “Your teammates are good guys, right?"

 

Sam looks at her mom. “Yeah, mom. Really good guys."

 

“Give them some credit then, huh? Don’t be so worried. ” Her mom smiles encouragingly, and then goes to retrieve the thrown shoe and help Amy put it on. “You always bring out the best in people anyway, don’t you,” she coos to Amy. The little girl smiles and throws her other shoe at her grandma's head. Jane laughs as she puts the second shoe on Amy’s small foot. “And besides, you can leave whenever you want. Just take it one step at a time, and make your exit as soon as you feel the need.”

 

That much is definitely true. Really, having Amy along will make it easier than ever for her to excuse herself at any time. Toddlers are great for that sort of thing. “Ok,” Sam says.

 

Jane smiles. "You’ll be fine,” she says, giving Sam a quick hug. “You’ll have fun, even.” Sam grimaces. “It’s a possibility,” she insists.

 

 

—

 

 

And so, fifteen minutes later, Sam is standing at Colonel O’Neill’s door with Amy on her hip. Amy is delighted to press the doorbell herself and looks up at her mom in awe as she hears it ding inside the house. Seconds later, the Colonel opens the door, and his eyes snap immediately to the toddler in Sam’s arms. “Well,” he says, “you must be Amy."

 

Amy’s eyes light up at his friendly tone, but she looks to her mom for reassurance. Sam smiles back at her.

 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” the Colonel says, still addressing only the girl.

 

Amy’s bright blue eyes dart back and forth between her mom and the Colonel, like she’s not sure what to make of him, but she’s intrigued.

 

“And I like your jacket,” he says. 

 

Sam grimaces slightly. It’s bright pink with sparkly hearts on it, not exactly Sam’s style, but her mother, thrilled to finally have a granddaughter, had picked out this particular item. Amy beams proudly at the Colonel. She points to her jacket. “Pretty!” she says. 

 

Sam is prepared to jump in and translate, not expecting Amy’s attempts at communication to be comprehensible to the outside world. But apparently the Colonel doesn’t require a translation. “Very pretty. That’s just what I was thinking,” he says with a wink, and Amy laughs.

 

Amy points now to her shoes. “Shoes!” she declares.

 

“Well look at that!” the Colonel says. “Your shoes are pretty too!"

 

Amy giggles, and then buries her face in her mother’s neck before peeking back out at the Colonel and giggling some more. Sam lets out a breath. So far, so good.

 

“Amy,” she says, “this is…"

 

“Jack,” he cuts in. “Nice to meet you, Amy."

 

Sam balks. She hadn’t really thought through how Amy was going to address the Colonel. She’s never called him by his first name, not ever. But she hadn’t really expected Amy to call him “the Colonel,” had she? “Yeah,” she says, recovering. “Jack is my -"

 

“Friend,” the Colonel, Jack, finishes for her. “I’m your mom’s friend. Want to come see my house?" He holds out his hand.

 

Amy starts to squirm herself out of Sam’s arms, which Sam interprets as a response in the affirmative. She takes the Colonel’s hand, and he leads her to the steps that go down to the living room. “Hey, Carter,” he calls over his shoulder in greeting as they walk away. Amy takes the couple of steps slowly, one at a time, clutching the Colonel’s hand tightly as he bends over to help her along.

 

Sam takes another deep breath and slips her coat off. _One step at a time._ She follows them into the living room. Teal’c and Daniel are already there, having come over together straight from the base. Amy has successfully navigated the steps and is now staring warily at the two of them. She glances up to the Colonel for reassurance. Well, Sam thinks, that was fast.

 

“Hey guys,” Sam greets them. “Amy,” she turns to her daughter, who is still holding tightly to her commanding officer. "These are some more of my friends. This is Daniel.” Daniel waves and smiles warmly. “And this is Teal’c.”

 

Amy glances at Daniel but then looks at Teal’c and narrows her eyes. “Amelia Carter,” he says, his deep voice ringing in the house. “It is an honor.” Amy tugs the Colonel’s hand and takes tiny steps towards Teal’c, who leans forward so his face is level with hers. Her soft, small hands reach up and gently touch the gold mark of Apophis on his forehead.

 

“Pretty,” she whispers, and Sam freezes, not knowing how Teal’c will respond to such a pronouncement. To her immense relief, he smiles, an actual - and rare - Teal’c smile, and inclines his head before sitting up straight again.

 

“Thank you, Amelia Carter.” 

 

It’s too chilly this October evening to eat out on the deck, but it’s warm enough to run the grill, and the Colonel takes Amy outside while she still has her pink sparkly jacket on to check on the meat and to show her the deck and the yard. He squats down next to her and points to a spot in the tree line at the edge of his property where he’s seen owls before, and asks Amy if she knows what sound an owl makes. Amy, delighted, knows exactly what sound an owl makes, and they spend some time outside talking about what sounds dogs, lions and ducks make too. Amy doesn’t even seem to notice that Sam has stayed inside this whole time, or if she has noticed, she doesn’t care.

 

“She warmed up to him quickly,” Sam remarks to Daniel and Teal'c, as they sit looking through the window at the Colonel and Amy together.

 

Daniel smiles. “Jack always says kids and dogs are his favorite people.” Daniel’s smile is somewhat wistful as he continues, “it’s good to see him like this."

 

Sam is not sure what, exactly, to make of that comment. Outside on the deck, the Colonel must have said something particularly on point, because Amy shrieks with laughter and grabs onto his neck as she throws her head back, and the Colonel laughs too. Sam has never seen him smile like that before, not even with the boys on Abydos. But then again, she really only sees him at work.

 

Dinner is hamburgers, actually, not steaks, which is a safer bet for Amy, who doesn’t quite have the requisite molars for meat that requires so much chewing. As they all move into the dining room to take their seats at the table, the Colonel looks at Sam apologetically and says, “I don’t have a high chair."

 

“That’s ok,” Sam says. Of course he doesn’t have a high chair. She hadn’t expected it. “I actually brought her booster seat, it’s out in the car and it can strap onto any chair."

 

The Colonel makes a face. “I’ve only got four chairs for this table. But she could just sit on my lap. Or I have some folding chairs in the basement I could bring up.” He defers to her.

 

“Well she could sit on my lap too, I don’t want to inconvenience you."

 

“Nonsense. You’re a guest."

 

Daniel snorts a laugh as he walks past, setting a pile of napkins on the table. “Just wait ’til it’s time to wash the dishes, then see who’s a guest.”

 

Sam shrugs and the Colonel scoops Amy up and plops down on one of the four chairs with her on his lap. Amy seems happy enough, so Sam retrieves the sippy cup full of milk from the side of the diaper bag and starts digging around for the carrots she’d packed. She decides to skip the mac and cheese, because part of a hamburger will definitely fill her up, but Sam wants Amy to have some vegetables too. On the table is a plate piled high with hamburger patties, another with buns, and another with - 

 

“Jack?” Daniel says, sounding suspicious. “Is this… broccoli?"

 

“Are you not familiar with this food, Daniel Jackson? I have eaten it several times already in the few months I have been among your people,” Teal’c remarks with a glimmer of teasing in his eye.

 

“Oh, I’m familiar with broccoli,” Daniel replies. “I just didn’t think Jack was.”

 

Sam thinks back to their two previous team nights, when they’d had steak and beer, and pizza and beer. Nope, definitely nothing resembling a vegetable, unless you count pizza sauce, which she doesn’t.

 

The Colonel gives Daniel a pointed look. “Daniel,” he says pedantically, “I’ll have you know I happen to _love_  broccoli. Don’t you, Amy?” He holds up a piece in his fingers. Amy smiles a grabs a piece for herself, both of them grinning as they pop the broccoli straight into their mouths. Amy is a good eater, Sam is grateful that she’s never really had any trouble with her and broccoli has always been a favorite. Still, she appreciates the effort. Sam smiles at the Colonel and serves up some broccoli for herself while Daniel rolls his eyes. 

 

“You should bring Amy over more often, Sam,” he teases, “so Jack can stop taking that cholesterol medication he’s been on."

 

“Hey!” the Colonel shoots a mock glare at Daniel, and then throws a piece of broccoli at him. In his arms, Amy bursts out laughing. Sam can’t help it. She’s laughing too.

 

 

—

 

 

Dinner is over and Sam has indeed been assigned to dishes duty, along with Teal’c, while Daniel and the Colonel play in the living room with Amy. They’ve moved the coffee table over to the wall so there’s room for a small person to play on the floor, or in this case, a small person and two pretty big people.

 

The Colonel apparently has two sets of four coasters in his living room, and Amy has located all eight of them. She’s sitting primly on the floor, busily stacking the coasters into one big pile and then distributing them between herself, the Colonel, and Daniel, before recollecting and restacking them. It’s the kind of game that can last for the entire length of a toddler attention span, and it’s been going on now for 15 minutes already.

 

“Your daughter resembles you strongly,” Teal’c remarks.

 

“Thanks,” Sam smiles as she dries the last of the dishes. Sam thinks Amy is about the most beautiful thing in the world, and whenever anyone says Amy looks like her, she can’t help but take it as a high compliment. Teal’c grabs another can of soda and Sam pours herself a cup of coffee after hanging the dish towel back on the oven handle. “Your son, Rya’c. He’s adorable, Teal’c."

 

Teal’c nods. “He will be a great warrior some day."

 

“I’m sure he will,” Sam says, as they walk into the living room together. “But right now, he’s adorable.” There’s that glimmer in his eye again, whether amusement or pride, Sam isn’t sure. She’s not great at reading Teal’c, not yet, but at any rate, he seems pleased with her assessment. The two of them take a seat on the couch, the trio on the floor paying them no heed whatsoever. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to leave him behind."

 

Next to her, Teal’c straightens his shoulders. “The price of leaving is high. But the price of staying is higher. It is too great. It is a price I will not pay."

 

Sam nods, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup. “You want freedom for all Jaffa."

 

Teal’c turns and looks at her. “I do,” he says. “And I want freedom for my son the most."

 

Sam holds his gaze. This, she does understand. It’s a helpful way to think about it, really. Loving your child and loving your country, or your people, or your planet, they don’t have to be in opposition. Sam isn’t choosing against Amy when she chooses SG-1. She’s choosing to play the long game, choosing to believe in a better future, for Earth in general and for Amy in particular.

 

“At least now my son knows that I have not abandoned him."

 

Sam puts a hand on Teal’c’s arm. “I’m sorry for how things turned out today. But I’m glad he knows you’re alive. I’m glad I got to meet him. And I’m hopeful that someday, you won’t have to say goodbye anymore."

 

On the floor below them, Amy is distributing the coasters again and the Colonel reaches past her to steal one of the coasters she’d allocated to Daniel. Amy notices and huffs in exasperation as the Colonel snickers.

 

“I share that hope, Captain Carter,” Teal’c says, his gaze returning to their teammates and Amy, who has risen from her spot on the floor. “And I am glad to have met your child today as well."

 

Sam settles back into the couch with her coffee. Amy approaches them, her little hands full of coasters, and presents Teal’c with one, and then Sam. “Thank you,” Sam says.

 

Amy smiles brightly. “Thank you!” she says back.

 

 

—

 

 

Jack helps Carter shoulder her diaper bag as she balances a very sleepy Amy in her other arm. He holds the door for them and Amy offers him a quiet “bye-bye,” blowing a kiss as they walk to the car. It’s been a long time since he’s been around a toddler, a long time since he made funny faces and played on the floor, a long time since a tiny hand held tightly onto his. There’s something about those baby hands - so soft and delicate and innocent and yet so profound, almost powerful. Those small hands make Jack feel like somewhere deep down inside, he must be a good man after all, even with all truly horrible things he’s seen and done. It makes him feel like maybe even he isn’t beyond redemption, if a child so small and so sweet will hold his hand.

 

He’s missed that more than he realized. He thinks of Charlie’s little hands and his heart clenches. He’s been doing really well lately dealing with Charlie’s death, which is to say he’s been doing well trying not to think about it. But it’s a different story when there’s another kid in the picture, in his house, in his life. He gazes out at his driveway long after the Carters have left.

 

“You ok?” Daniel says, startling him.

 

“Yeah,” Jack replies, trying for casual. “Gotta reseal that driveway before the snow comes. You know."

 

“Uh-huh,” Daniel says, clearly not buying it.

 

“Clean the gutters. Lots to do.” Jack grumbles and pushes past Daniel into the house, feeling cranky and unexpectedly bereft. Maybe this evening wasn’t such a great idea after all.

 

 

 


	7. Hathor

It’s one week after Halloween when Carter shows up at work with a plastic jack-o’lantern full of candy.

 

“Captain Carter,” he says, shaking his head and drawing on all of his skills as a commanding officer to convey disapproval. “Tell me this candy isn’t Amy’s.”

 

“It’s not Amy’s?” she says.

 

He narrows his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t just lie to your commanding officer.”

 

She has the audacity to grin. “She ate enough already, sir,” Carter says. “She’s only one and a half.”

 

Jack just shakes his head. “Why do I get the feeling that you and I have very different understandings of how much candy constitutes _enough_?”

 

Carter just chuckles and holds out the plastic jack-o’lantern towards him. “I couldn’t possibly,” Jack says. “How would I ever look Amy in the eye again?”

 

“Don’t worry, sir,” Carter says. “Actually, I think she forgot about it.”

 

“Forgot?”

 

“Yeah,” Carter says with a casual shrug. “I let her eat a piece after trick-or-treating last week, and she got a piece after dinner for the next couple nights, but then over the weekend we made cookies, and she had that for dessert for a couple nights, and then she just… quit asking about the candy. And that was a few nights ago.” Carter smiles innocently at him, but Jack narrows his eyes all over again.

 

“You did the cookies thing on purpose, didn’t you?” he says. “So she’d forget about the candy.” Carter shrugs again but Jack is so onto her. “A calculated tactic. Damn. I mean I knew you were smart but I didn’t know you were so devious.”

 

“Do you want some, or not?” she asks with a cheeky grin, holding out the bucket once more.

 

“Ooh, is that Halloween candy?” Daniel asks as he and Teal’c enter the room.

 

“ _Amy’s_ Halloween candy,” Jack says.

 

“Did you guys go trick-or-treating?” Daniel asks, ignoring Jack.

 

“Yeah,” Carter says with a smile, now also ignoring Jack. “She dressed up as a cow. It was adorable. We just went up and down the street, but we got so much candy.”

 

“You have literally stolen candy from a baby, Carter,” Jack tries one more time.

 

“You got any red hots in there?” Daniel asks.

 

“Red hots?” Jack says, making a face.

 

“I am unfamiliar with this product,” says Teal’c, who’s also looking interested in poor Amy’s candy. “What is a red hot?”

 

“It’s a waste of time, that’s what,” Jack says. Who the hell likes red hots the best, out of all the other, much more delicious and chocolaty Halloween candy options? If it were him, he’d start with the Snickers, not that he would ever partake in the spoils of this thievery anyway.

 

“I don’t know if we got any red hots,” Carter says, digging around in the bucket. As she digs, she tosses a fun-sized Snickers bar in Jack’s direction, and he looks up at her sharply. “I saw the way you were looking at it, sir,” she says. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.” And he can’t hardly believe it, but she actually winks.

 

—

 

Another week later, the Goa’uld Hathor infiltrates the mountain and makes a play for the SGC, and by extension, planet Earth. Sam looks around the briefing room and can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, because somehow she’s the only one who seems to think this is a problem. Daniel looks fascinated, the Colonel looks relaxed, and General Hammond looks downright smitten.

 

_Know me better_ , she hears the Colonel say in the back of her mind.

 

“Sir, I have a problem with this,” she says.

 

But they ignore her, dismiss her. She continues to push back, but she might as well be talking to an empty room. She confronts the Colonel again later, when it’s just the two of them, but he won’t listen, won’t even entertain her very valid concerns.

 

_Know that that’s not the kind of thing I do_ , she hears him say.

 

So she makes a decision: it’s time to neutralize Hathor. She gets Teal’c, Janet, and the only other women on base, SP Guard Tracy Greenwood and Airman Lisa Michaels. Together, they take back the mountain.

 

—

 

It’s late by the time Sam and Janet finish collecting samples from the mess Hathor left behind in the locker room. She still can’t quite believe Hammond is putting them up for a commendation; she knows they did the right thing today, but only a few short hours ago, it seemed like everyone on base with a Y chromosome disagreed with her quite strongly.

 

“That should do it,” Janet says, standing up and adjusting the sling on her arm. Sam is just as eager as Janet was to get these samples collected and put into secure storage immediately, so as to avoid any further contamination or possible degradation of the genetic material. They know so little about the Goa’uld, anything they can glean from this could be a real game-changer.

 

“Great,” Sam says. “Let’s get this back to the lab.”

 

Once the samples are properly stored away for analysis, Sam looks over at Janet. The adrenaline from earlier in the day hasn’t left her system yet, and it even got a bit of a boost from Hammond’s news about their commendations. Janet still looks pretty keyed up too. It’s late enough that Amy has been in bed for a while, and she’s half-tempted to just get to work on these samples. “How are you getting home?” Sam says.

 

“I’m ok to drive,” Janet says, entering some final notes into the computer before shutting it down. “It’s just a couple stitches. The sling is mostly a precautionary measure.”

 

“No pain meds?” Sam asks.

 

Janet shakes her head. “I didn’t want to be fuzzy,” she says, making a face, “just in case.”

 

“Right,” Sam says. It’s always best to retain one’s full mental capacities when one is fighting off an ancient alien god. She spares one more glance for the samples before making a different decision. “Well in that case, do you want to go get a drink?”

 

“Oh my god, yes,” Janet says, looking relieved at the idea.

 

“I’ll go find Lisa and Tracy,” Sam says, but Janet shakes her head.

 

“They left a couple hours ago. I could give them a call, but…”

 

But. It’s almost midnight, and if Lisa and Tracy are at all lucky, they’re already crashing at their own homes in the comfort of their own beds.

 

Sam and Janet end up at a bar that’s not far from Sam’s house and apparently not far from Janet’s house either, though Sam had no idea they lived so close to each other. Colorado Springs is not a huge town, not compared to some places she’s lived, but it’s not small either. Sam gets a beer and Janet gets double strength vodka tonic.

 

“Well,” Sam says once they both have their drinks, “here’s to kicking ass today.”

 

“I’ll definitely drink to that,” Janet replies.

 

It’s hard for military women to become friends. Every woman in the military has to spend so much of her energy trying to prove herself to her overwhelmingly male colleagues, and the muscles you use, so to speak, to prove yourself are the exact opposite of the muscles you use to make friends, real friends. So Sam it finds strange but immensely refreshing to be doing something social with another woman. They talk about the day, laughing at each other’s attempts to adapt the story and make it at all appropriate for a public setting.

 

“I can’t believe your husband said that,” Sam says at one point when their drinks are getting low. “ _‘This man’s army?’_ I mean, really? How long had you been married?”

 

“ _Ex_ -husband,” Janet corrects her. “Don’t forget the ex- part.”

 

“Right,” Sam says with a smile. “Ex. Very ex.”

 

Janet laughs. “We’d been married way too long. I never should’ve married that man in the first place, but it just…” she shrugs. “It seemed like the thing to do, you know?”

 

Sam nods. She knows.

 

“What about you?” Janet asks, swiveling on her bar stool so she’s facing Sam. “Any ex-husbands out there?”

 

“Ugh,” Sam says with a grimace that’s not even a little bit exaggerated. She knew Janet would ask eventually. “I sort of pre-empted the whole ‘ex-husband’ thing by breaking off the engagement.”

 

“Ah,” Janet says, tipping her now-almost-empty glass in Sam’s direction. “Smart woman.”

 

Sam chuckles a little, because people always think she’s smart, but smart would’ve been never getting involved with Jonas Hanson in the first place, right? Still, it’s nice to just chat with someone else who’s been there, sort of, someone who’s not casting any kind of judgement.

 

“Do you ever have to see him?” Janet asks. “Is he involved in your daughter’s life at all?”

 

Sam swirls her drink. “He never was, no.” Janet has access to Sam’s medical files enough to know that she carried a pregnancy to term and she gave birth without complication, but none of that documentation names that baby’s father. No documentation anywhere names him, actually. “You remember hearing about SG-9, how their commander went insane on P3X-513 and tried to kill us?”

 

Janet’s eyes go wide. “Captain Hanson?”

 

Sam nods grimly. “That’s the guy.”

 

“Oh my god,” Janet says. She knocks back the rest of her drink and Sam does the same. “Well, I’d say you dodged a bullet there,” she says decisively.

 

Sam nods. She wishes she could’ve dodged a lot more from Jonas, years ago, but even for everything he put her through, she’d never, ever change Amy.

 

“My daughter though,” Sam says, “she’s perfect.”

 

“Mmm,” Janet smiles, and the bartender deposits two new drinks in front of them. “That’s the one thing I regret, really, is that I never had kids.” Sam starts to jump in and say that surely, Janet is not past having kids, but Janet holds up a hand to stop her. “I know, I know. There’s still time. But if you factor in how long it would take for me to meet someone and decide he’s a decent enough human being that I’d actually want to have kids with him… of course, that assumes that there _are_ decent men out there somewhere, and then of course I’d have to have time to ever go on a date…”

 

Sam laughs at this, and Janet does too. Sam can’t imagine ever going on a date again. She knows how hard it is, how impossible, really, to be a woman in the military, to be professionally exemplary in every regard, and to also have the kind of social life that might lead to a family life. She knows how lucky she is to have Amy. It feels trite to say that Amy makes it all worth it, but she does, without question.

 

—

 

“Captain Carter, sir, reporting as ordered.”

 

She’s standing in the doorway to his office looking uncomfortable, which is funny, because she’s one of the few people on base who was not recently tripping over herself to please a Goa’uld.

 

But Jack has just completed his review of the security tapes, and she knows it. In addition to knocking Hammond out with the butt of her rifle, which really made Jack’s jaw drop, she’d been insubordinate from almost the second she suspected something was amiss, or so it seemed to him. She’d interrupted her superior officers and countermanded them on several occasions. She’d let loose more than a few of the sarcastic one-liners he’d always suspected she had in her.

 

And thank god she reacted like she did when she did. Jack doesn’t even want to think about what would’ve happened to their home planet had she hesitated or faltered.

 

Jack has no actual memory of the whole ordeal beyond what he’s seen in the tapes, but he feels quite sure that Carter is aware of every single rule and regulation she broke. So when Jack had her summoned to his office, which in and of itself is very unlike him, he knows she must be bracing herself for something bad.

 

“Captain,” he says, looking up and grabbing a pile of papers on his desk to straighten. He has no idea what those papers are about or how they got on his desk.

 

“Yes, sir.” She shifts awkwardly on her feet. After watching how confidently she took command of the three other women on base, and Teal’c, he takes a perverse pleasure in her discomfort now.

 

He smiles and stands and watches her squirm for a moment longer before he speaks. “I thought you made a good point yesterday,” he says.

 

“Yes, sir,” she says again, and then, “Oh. I did, sir? I mean -“

 

“You did, Captain.” He smiles again.

 

“And what point was that, sir?” She seems to be having a hard time looking him in the eye, but she’s making an effort.

 

“Lockup C,” he says, walking around to the front of his desk and leaning against it, “where we have a back-up supply of tranquilizer guns.” He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.

 

“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” she says finally.

 

Carter’s efforts to neutralize Hathor were inhibited by a lack of tranq guns. She obviously didn’t want to injure the men on the base, which Jack thinks was very considerate of her, but she couldn’t get to Hathor without getting past them. The SGC has a stash of extra tranq guns stored in Lockup C, but not many people know about it, and of the people who know, none of them are women. It hadn’t really seemed like a consideration before, but now, it does.

 

“It would’ve been nice if someone had told you about the tranquilizer guns in Lockup C,” he says.

 

Carter nods, looking somewhat less nervous now but still confused.

 

“Did you know you’re the ranking female officer on this base, Carter?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says. He hadn’t really thought about it before he watched her lead an insurgency, but Carter probably has. It’s probably one of many things men don’t have to think about, but women do, he realizes. She and Doctor Fraiser have both attained the rank of Captain, and as CMO, Fraiser could outrank God at her discretion. But Carter has more time in the field under her belt.

 

“I deeply, deeply hope that we never see that Hathor chick again,” Jack says, “but in the event that we do, or if for any other reason we need to turn to the ranking female officer on base to save us men folk, there are a few more secrets about the Cheyenne Mountain Complex that it would probably be good for you to know.”

 

“Oh,” she says. She looks surprised.

 

“So… I thought I might give you a tour,” he says. “Make sure you’ve got access to every part of the base you might need access to, things like that.” He’d run the idea past Hammond that morning, and Hammond had agreed that it was more than fitting.

 

“Oh,” she says again, and Jack smiles.

 

“You did good, Captain,” he says, and finally, she smiles back.

 

 


	8. Singularity

Missions keep them busy. Once or twice a week, they go through the gate and come back home with small bits of dirt and rocks and information and local lore, and it’s hard at this point to know what’s important as opposed to merely interesting or actually just bullshit. Daniel, who finds everything to be importantly interesting, is utterly unhelpful in this regard.

 

It’s a couple weeks, almost Thanksgiving, before their grand tour of the base gets going, and even then, it only happens in small, stolen twenty or thirty-minute increments.

 

Jack realizes quickly that it’s not exactly a tour as much as it is a mission of discovery, given the size of the facility and the various purposes to which it has been put over the years. The more they dig around, the more Jack wonders if anyone before them has ever done a systematic review of all 28 floors. He thinks perhaps not, or at least not in the last several decades. It seems fitting, given their line of work, that they should be the ones to discover the Cheyenne Mountain Complex too.

 

“It’s like the storage closets _know_ this is a top secret base, and they’re all trying to be as mysterious as they can,” he remarks at one point, drawing a smile from his second-in-command as they uncover level after level, hallway after hallway, closet after closet.

 

Lockup C, for example, has a backup supply of tranq guns and other assorted non-lethal weapons, but also some P-90 holsters, a mop, a laundry bag full of clean tak vests, a crate of toilet paper, three crates of snack-pack sized bags of chips, and a year’s supply of double A batteries. “Wow,” Jack says as they take inventory. “Someone could sure have a lot of fun in here.”

 

Carter ducks her head, hiding another grin. It’s turning into a bit of a game, seeing if he can make her smile at him. It’s made all the more fun by the fact that she’s trying so hard to be serious about this. He tells himself he’d play the same game with anyone. He’s trying to keep himself entertained more than anything.

 

In general, they try to work from the top to the bottom, because they’re already more familiar with the lower levels and because they agree that it’s nice to have a system. They actually don’t poke around all that much on levels 1-4, where the actual NORAD people work, along with the people who do administrative stuff for the SGC. Jack had never really considered the SGC’s need for an accounting department, or a payroll department, for example, but now that he thinks about it, he’s happy they’re there. Jack is most interested in the mess hall on level 4, but it turns out to be smaller and no better than the mess down on 22.

 

Levels 5-7 are massive storage areas, but not for fun stuff like weapons and explosives, just for non-perishable food items, some of which seem like they’ve been there a frighteningly long time. There’s also a lot of empty space, and Jack can only fathom how many more hundreds of boxes of potato flakes someone is planning to put here in the near future.

 

“Isn’t this where we put the refugees from Chulak? After that first mission?” Carter asks as they peruse level 7, and Jack remembers, that’s right, they’d used the extra space up here to accommodate everyone while they interviewed them and worked to get them back home.

 

“Yeah,” he says. It seems like such a long time ago.

 

Some of the areas they tour are interesting, and others boring. Some are heavily populated, with people milling about or rushing around. Other areas are mostly empty, save for a few guards near the access points and a few perfunctory security cameras. Levels 7 has been both boring and empty.

 

Jack has a sudden flash of a memory of Carter in a short tank top pushing him up against the lockers, her hand in his hair and her tongue in his mouth.

 

He freezes. _Careful_ , he thinks to himself.

 

She’s attractive, of course, that goes without saying. He doesn’t think anyone would fault him for acknowledging that. In fact, he feels confident that anyone oriented in the female direction would find her pretty damn attractive. But he’s not the kind of guy who would ever make a pass at a subordinate officer, no matter how attractive. She probably puts up with enough of that shit as a woman in the military, or as a woman, period.

 

She frowns at him, looking confused. “Why did we put them up here instead of in the shared living quarters on level 12? It would’ve been more comfortable for them there, and they wouldn’t have had to go through the secondary security checkpoint.”

 

He likes that she’s asking questions like this, trying to understand not just what’s on all these floors, but how they make use of the space and resources available to them. He realized some time ago that she’s got a brilliant career ahead of her, and it’s only a matter of time before she’s running a base like this herself.

 

“Ah…” Jack says, remembering his conversation with Hammond about this, months ago. “It was mostly just a day thing. No one needed overnight accommodations. And I think we wanted to keep them all in one space, instead of segmenting them up into 4 or 6 person rooms. Just in case.”

 

She nods, and continues her perusal of the dry goods, her lips quirking up at the crate of Jello she’s just come across. Jack has noticed her affinity for the stuff, particularly the blue flavor, which he can honestly say has never appealed to him. He thinks about her full lips closing around a bite of blue Jello and shakes his head. _Enough_ , he thinks. She’s a good officer, she deserves a CO who’s not a creep, and he can do that.

 

He thinks about the rest of his team and makes a mental note to focus less on his second’s lips and more on getting Daniel needlessly riled up, and on teaching Teal’c obscure colloquialisms. Both of those things are plenty of fun any day of the week.

 

And he thinks about Amy, with her chubby cheeks and inquisitive blue eyes. She’s been a regular fixture at team nights lately. Jack is learning to tuck away the memories of Charlie that try to break through when she sits in his lap, or gives him a hug, or tears through his house. He’s also learning to have team nights more often, at least once or twice a month, so he doesn’t feel such a void when the Carters leave. He’s pleased that everyone on his team, especially Carter, seems happy with this arrangement, and he doesn’t even mind having to cook honest to goodness vegetables for them when they come.

 

Every time he sees Amy, she’s got a whole new set of words she knows and things she can do. She can say his name now, and she can say Teal’c’s name, sort of, but when it comes to Daniel, she seems to have given up and decided to just call him “Jack” too. Jack finds this endlessly funny, and Daniel is making a real effort not to take it personally.

 

Last time they all came over, Amy had packed a bag of books, dragged it over to him, backed herself onto his lap and sat there for nearly a half hour while he read her the same five stories over and over again. For a toddler, that’s a long time to sit still. Hell, for Jack, that’s a long time to sit still. But he loved the weight of her in his lap, the way her little fingers pointed at the pictures, how she laughed at the same parts of each book, how the rest of the world - the food, the dishes, the conversation, the war with the Goa’uld - faded into the background and didn’t bother him at all, not in the least, for a whole half hour.

 

There’s nothing more to see on level 7, and they don’t have time now to dig into level 8, so they call the elevator to take them down to the secondary checkpoint, and then call another elevator to take them to the briefing room. Jack leans back against the wall of the elevator and peeks over at Carter. He sees so many similarities between her and Amy, not just in their appearance, but in their approach to life, their curiosity, their spark.

 

He has to be careful with Sam Carter, he can like her but he can’t like her too much, he knows that. But there aren’t any regulations saying how much he can like her daughter.

 

—

 

The holidays come and go. Jane asks Sam if she’d like to have her team over for Christmas dinner, and Sam immediately says no.

 

“They’ve all got families of their own they’re spending the holiday with?” Jane asks.

 

Sam frowns. “No.” Not by a long shot.

 

“Maybe it would be nice for them,” Jane says.

 

Maybe, Sam thinks, or maybe it would be torturous. Her dad plans to be home over the holidays, and every single time she sees him, all he wants to talk about is her work, what she’s doing, why she’s wasting her time analyzing deep space radar telemetry, who she pissed off to get such an assignment. She can’t imagine what a conversation between him and the Colonel would look like, not to mention Daniel or Teal’c.

 

“It’s no trouble,” Jane pushes gently, and Sam believes her. As a military spouse, Jane has hosted all sorts of stray, last-minute guests for any number of holidays and family affairs over the years. And Sam is sure that however careful her mother is not to ask about information Sam can’t share, she would love a chance to know more about Sam’s life at the mountain.

 

“I know,” Sam says with a smile. “Maybe some other time.”

 

—

 

Carter is entirely too interested in the internal power generation plant on levels 8 and 9, as well as the air purification system on level 10 and the water purification and storage tanks that span levels 10 and 11. He’s sure she’s read all about how they all work, but her eyes light up anytime she sees anything that generates power. By this point, he should really be used to it.

 

“You and Amy have a nice Christmas?” he asks as they pass through the secondary security checkpoint between levels 11 and 12. Now that they’ve got two checkpoints between themselves and the outside world, he sincerely hopes they’ll start finding more by way of explosive devices and strange hidden artifacts from the Cold War era.

 

“Yeah,” she says. Levels 12-15 provide different types of on-base housing options for military and civilian personnel, which does not interest Jack at all. Carter seems to feel the same way. “Lots of family time. My dad was in town for a couple weeks.”

 

“Oh,” he says. “Is that a good thing?” Jack’s got a suspicion that Carter’s dad is Air Force too, though that has more to do with what he knows about Carter than with what she’s ever said about her dad, which is next to nothing.

 

Carter shrugs, but doesn’t give any more of an answer.

 

“Where does he live?” Jack asks. It’s pretty clear she doesn’t want to talk about it, but this seems to Jack like a safe enough question, and he’s desperate for some conversation, any conversation. All this floor had in the linen closet was actual linens.

 

“Here, sort of,” Carter says. “But not really. He travels a lot for work. He’s got a condo in the DC area where he spends more of his time.”

 

“DC?” Jack asks. “Politician?”

 

Carter looks down at the floor. “Sometimes it feels that way.”

 

 _Ok_ , _fine,_ Jack decides. _Moving on_. “And your mom?” he says.

 

“She’s here in the Springs,” Carter says.

 

“Oh,” Jack says, trying to infuse the word with as much interest as possible, willing her to keep talking.

 

“My brother too. He’s married with two kids, boys, a little older than Amy. It’s fun to see them all together.”

 

Jack wonders all of a sudden what Amy does while Carter is at work, during the frequently quite long days and sometimes overnights when Carter is with SG-1 instead of her daughter. He’s a little ashamed that he never wondered about this before. Does Amy stay with her cousins maybe?

 

“How was your Christmas, sir?” Carter asks him, and then immediately looks like she regrets it. It’s a polite sort of question to ask, normally, but less appropriate when the person being asked is a recently divorced man with a recently dead child. Jack is learning that for all of Carter’s many strengths, small talk is not one of them.

 

But he’s feeling generous - after all, he’s the one who’s so desperate for conversation anyway - so he takes it in stride. “It was fine,” he says. “Nice to have some time off, no planets in peril or anything. Went up to my cabin.”

 

“Your cabin?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve got some land up in Minnesota, nice little cabin, a pond. Good for fishing. Not this time of year of course.” He’s about to add that it’s been in his family for generations, but then he gets afraid that _she’ll_ start asking about _his_ family, kind of like he was just asking about hers, and he’s definitely not that desperate for conversation. “It’s great,” he says instead. “You should come sometime.” He’s blurted it out before he can stop himself.

 

She stops walking and gives him a strange look.

 

“All of you guys. Daniel and Teal’c. We could do a team… retreat… thing.”

 

Her strange look fades into something more familiar, amusement, maybe.

 

“Amy would love it,” he throws in, for good measure.

 

Carter snorts a laugh. “Sounds cold.”

 

“Never knew you to be scared of a little cold, Carter,” he says as they resume their walk down the boring hallway on level 12.

 

“No, sir,” she says. “But I don’t supposed you’ve got a second cabin on a tropical beach somewhere?” She smiles and presses the button to call the elevator to take them to the next level.

 

—

 

Given the conversation she and Janet had after the Hathor incident, Sam knows she shouldn’t be surprised to find Janet standing in her lab wanting to talk about the orphaned alien girl, Cassandra. And yet, she is surprised. She’s floored, actually, because deep down, Sam had already started to think of Cassandra as _hers_. Sam had already started to love her. And if Janet adopts her, then Cassandra will not be hers to love. Not like that, anyway.

 

She knows it’s ridiculous, she knows it was a bad idea, an impossible idea. It’s hard enough to be a single parent to one child, let alone a second, let alone one from another planet, and the burden would be on her mom, really, to do the actual care-taking. But every time she’s looked at Cassandra’s face, she’s seen Amy, and she’s felt such an overwhelming flood of compassion that she could hardly maintain her composure. She had her mom bring quilts and pillows from home to the base to decorate the girl’s temporary room, stuffed animals, a box of crayons, books. She’d looked at Cassandra, wrapped in one of Amy’s blankets, and imagined the two of them together. She’d dreamed maybe, just maybe, of them being a family.

 

But now, here stands Janet, looking scared and excited and overwhelmed and hopeful all at once, asking Sam about balancing work and family life, about finding reliable caregivers, about what it’s like to be a mom.

 

“It’s not easy,” Sam says. “It’ll break your heart sometimes. But I can tell you this.” She locks eyes with her friend. “You will not ever, ever regret choosing to love a child.”

 

Sam knows this is the best option. The Air Force never would’ve gone along with her adopting Cassandra anyway, and this at least ensures that Cassandra will stay local, instead of being shipped off to some other state or country or planet. And Janet is terrific. Sam has no doubt that Janet will pour her whole self into raising and loving this child, just like she pours her whole self without complaint into her incredibly challenging position as the SGC’s CMO. Cassandra couldn’t ask for a better adoptive mom, really.

 

So when Janet smiles tentatively and asks if they can they be single mom best friends, Sam smiles back and nods. It will be great to have a friend who’s a mom, she tells herself, and one’s who’s also military, also stationed at the SGC. This is definitely the best option, she decides. She gives her friend a tight hug, and bites back tears.

 

—

 

Level 16 is definitely the best so far, housing the secondary command bunker, the security station, and the holding cells, as well as closets full of fifty years worth of paraphernalia relevant to detaining suspected criminals. Level 17 is back to boring, as it’s mostly empty, and after that, things start to get pretty familiar. Small labs and civilian offices are on level 18 (they pop in and say hi to Daniel), science labs, including Carter’s, and the armory are on level 19, manufacturing is on level 20, the infirmary is on level 21, and the commissary is on level 22. Carter once again gets way too interested in the details of the secondary and emergency engineering and power grids on level 23, and the mainframe computer on level 24. Level 25 is VIP quarters and private quarters for SGC senior staff (they pop in and say hi to Teal’c).

 

There’s plenty to see but not many mysteries to discover on levels 27 and 28, which house the Stargate itself, as well as the operations room, the briefing room, and Hammond’s office (they decline to pop in and say hi). But it’s on level 26, the last main segment of their self-guided tour of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, that they make a truly amazing discovery.

 

“Wow,” Jack says quietly, awestruck. “Would you look at those boxes.”

 

It’s late February by now. Level 26 has a couple different things going on, but it’s mostly storage, and the storage is mostly food. A lot of the non-food supplies the base goes through seem to be transported and delivered in crates and bags. But some food is apparently delivered in boxes. Huge boxes.

 

“Boxes?” Carter asks, looking skeptical.

 

“Wow,” Jack says again.

 

—

 

The Colonel has invited everyone over to his house on a Saturday in the middle of March, “everyone” meaning SG-1, plus Janet, plus kids. He’s had a couple such gatherings since Janet adopted Cassandra, which was now six weeks ago. Sam suspects he’s trying to give Cassie the illusion of an extended family, or at least a community of some kind, where it’s safe to talk about who she really is, just in case she ever needs to.

 

It’s been working out pretty well, actually, just like the logical part of Sam’s brain knew it would, and once she got over that initial stab of grief, she’s been genuinely happy for both Janet and Cassie. And Cassie seems to have taken an interest in Amy too. Sam guesses maybe she was used to having lots of little kids around on Hanka.

 

The only thing that’s not working, so far, is the cover story. Sam wonders who the hell comes up with these things, and why it would make sense for a girl from a pre-industrial society on a barely-populated planet to have to pretend she’s from one of the largest urban areas on the continent. They’ve now tweaked her cover story to say that she’s from “outside of Toronto,” far outside, perhaps. Very far.

 

Teal’c opens the door and greets Sam and Amy with a nod of his head. They step inside and Sam hears the Colonel down in the living room. She turns her gaze in his direction and there she sees it: boxes, five of them total, two as big as refrigerators. The Colonel is in the middle of explaining to a rapt Cassie and a bemused Janet that if Cassie wants to be a kid on planet Earth, she needs to learn how to build a box fort.

 

All the actual furniture has been pushed up against the walls, Sam notes as she and Amy make their way into the living room. There’s a big plastic bin full of markers and crayons and paints, streamers and tape and ribbon. The packaging on everything in the bin is new, like he went to the store and acquired all of these items just for the purpose of decorating these box forts. Cassie has begun slowly circling the first gigantic box with a marker, indicating where she wants windows cut and what size the windows should be, and the Colonel turns his attention to Sam and Amy.

 

“Hey!” he says, with a smile brighter than Sam has ever seen on him at work. He kneels down, and Amy launches herself into his arms.

 

“Jack!” she yells. Sam smiles and shakes her head. The two of them clicked from the instant they met, and so far, it hasn’t faded one bit. Amy seems to genuinely like Daniel and Teal’c too, the way she likes Heather and Mark, and Janet and Cassie. She even seems to have recommitted herself to the task of learning how to say Daniel’s actual name, to Sam’s immense relief. But for some reason, there’s nothing that makes Amy light up quite like Colonel Jack O’Neill.

 

“I’ve got something for you too, kiddo,” he says. He scoops her up and carries her to the far side of the living room where a washing machine-sized box is open on its side. All over the top of the box and onto the sides, he’s poked small holes, and into each hole, he’s stuck a bulb from a strand of white Christmas lights. The top of the box is a mess of wires, connecting all the individual lights, but when he plugs the strand into the outlet on the wall, the inside lights up bright, sparkling, downright enchanting.

 

“Mama!” Amy says to Sam, her voice full of wonder. “Look! Twinkle little stars!” It’s the song they sing every night, so it’s no surprise to Sam that this is the image comes to mind for her.

 

“Wow, sir,” Sam says, genuinely impressed, but the Colonel has already turned away from her, he’s fishing a new box of crayons out of the plastic bin Sam had noticed earlier.

 

“The best part is, you can color all over in here,” the Colonel says to Amy, sitting back down on the floor, taking a crayon out of the box and drawing a green line across the inside wall of Amy’s fort.

 

Amy shrieks. “I want it! I want it!” she exclaims, grabbing the crayon from the Colonel and drawing her own line next to his. “Mama, _look!!!_ ” she says, pointing excitedly.

 

Sam smiles at Amy, and then turns to face the Colonel, who’s just risen to his feet next to her. “Boxes,” she says. “Wow.”

 

He crosses his arms over his chest with a smirk. “I told you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the nice people over at the Stargate SG-1 Solutions wiki who made a floor-by-floor overview of what's on every single level of the SGC, without which this chapter would've been much more boring.


	9. Solitudes

Janet almost refuses to clear Sam for a mission to P4A-771 because Amy has pink eye.

 

“She’s been doing the eye drops for three days now,” Sam protests.

 

“Conjunctivitis is highly contagious, you know that,” Janet says. Sam does know. She’s been washing her hands about five thousands times a day since Amy’s eyes first started showing abnormal amounts of goop.

 

“ _And_ it’s aggressive. If I’d contracted it, I would be symptomatic by now,” Sam says. She’s doing her best not to pout. But seriously, sidelined by pink eye?

 

Janet sighs. “We have very little intel on this planet,” she says. “For all we know, what’s mostly a minor and very common irritation here could be a deadly plague there. I’m not going to be the doctor who authorizes that, it’s too risky.”

 

Sam sighs dramatically. “I can’t believe you’re grounding me for potential pink eye,” she says.

 

Janet raises an eyebrow, apparently not amused with Sam’s wining. “I can’t believe you kissed that Tollan guy,” she says.

 

“Janet!” Sam exclaims, her eyes darting around the empty infirmary.

 

Janet laughs. “Relax. It’s just us in here.”

 

“I’m going to kill Daniel,” Sam mutters. He’s the only one who saw, and therefore the only one who could’ve told Janet. Hopefully. “I don’t think he appreciates that I could actually kill him.”

 

“Apparently not,” Janet says with a smirk. “So?”

 

Sam frowns. “So what?”

 

“So, how was it?” Janet says.

 

Sam cringes. “Oh, Janet, I don’t know. It was fine?”

 

“Fine?”

 

“I mean it was weird? He just kissed me, right here on the base. And I was flattered, I think I was kind of taken up in… I don’t know. They were all so smart, so advanced. And he told me that when he was dying on that planet, he saw my face, and he thought I was an angel.”

 

Janet snorts a little and looks for all the world like she’s trying not to burst out laughing. “Well that’s a way to get a girl to kiss you, I guess,” she says.

 

Sam shakes her head. “I can’t believe he kissed me. I can’t believe I kissed him back. At work! And I can’t believe Daniel told you.”

 

“Well I can’t believe I had to hear it from Daniel,” Janet counters, folding her arms across her chest and giving Sam a pointed look.

 

“Oh, come on, Jan,” Sam says. “I can’t gossip about it and pretend it didn’t happen at the same time.”

 

Janet leans over and places a hand on Sam’s shoulder, her demeanor shifting from gossip mode to concerned friend mode in a single breath. “Hey,” she says, “pretend it didn’t happen? Was it that bad?”

 

“No,” Sam says, shaking her head with a sigh. “Not bad. Just… embarrassing. I got caught up.”

 

“It’s ok to get caught up,” Janet says, giving Sam’s shoulder a pat. “Lord knows how long it’s been since I got caught up in anything.”

 

Sam huffs a laugh. It’s been quite a while for her too. The only thing she has any real prospect of catching these days is pink eye.

 

In the end, they decide to delay the mission for 24 hours just to be on the safe side, the Colonel snickering at Sam from across the briefing room table. Sidelined by pink eye. Of all things.

 

—

 

Their stay on the planet is short anyway, minutes, if that. They’re fired upon almost immediately by immensely powerful weapons, and the Colonel orders Sam and Teal’c to lay down cover fire while Daniel dials the gate back home. Daniel steps through the event horizon, followed by Teal’c, and then by Sam with the Colonel taking up the rear. The next thing she knows, she’s slamming through a shaky event horizon into a kawoosh-sized cavern of ice. The Colonel is unconscious and obviously injured; Daniel and Teal’c are nowhere in sight.

 

Three long, cold days later, once she’s given up hope of escape or rescue or survival, she lays down next to him, pretends to be his ex-wife and calls him Jack, then she tells him it was an honor. The next thing she remembers is being carried out of the crevasse on a stretcher. “The Colonel,” she says, and they assure her he’s right behind her, whoever they are.

 

A week later, safely returned to Cheyenne Mountain from Antarctica, of all places in the galaxy they might have been, she sits on a medical bed and looks down at her feet as Janet takes her vitals one last time before releasing her.

 

“I can’t believe I gave up,” she says.

 

“You didn’t give up,” Janet replies.

 

“It wasn’t even the Goa’uld,” she says quietly. “I thought I was going die out there and it wasn’t even the Goa’uld. It wasn’t even -”

 

“Hey,” Janet says. She sets the blood pressure monitor down on the bed next to Sam and puts her hand on Sam’s shoulders, in a gesture reminiscent of the conversation they had a week earlier. Was it really only a week? “You did everything right. And you made it. You kept the Colonel alive, and you kept yourself alive. Don’t forget that. You’re going to be just fine.”

 

Sam nods reluctantly and stands up from the bed. It’s time to go home.

 

—

 

Jack shifts uncomfortably on his crutches outside of Carter’s house. He was only just released from the infirmary this morning, and he hasn’t seen her since she was released two weeks earlier. His broken leg earned him a significantly longer stay in the infirmary, and actually, it’s because of him that they were detained at McMurdo for as long as they were. The docs there weren’t interested in even trying to transfer him until he’d been stable for a couple days.

 

He has to see her.

 

He looks again at the address scrawled on the post-it note in his hand, and yep, this is the place, a big old farm house. It’s not far from downtown, and other, newer houses have built up around it on the land that probably used to belong to the farm. From what Jack can tell, there’s still a decent amount of privacy, and what looks like a good-sized yard in the back. It looks pretty charming, really. He just hadn’t expected her to live somewhere so big, or old, or… farm-y.

 

Taking a deep breath, he hoists himself up onto the front porch. He can get around all right, he just hasn’t had much opportunity to do anything other than PT. The break itself was pretty clean, and from what the doctors tell him, Carter did a fair job setting it, and he’s in good shape generally, so he’s hoping his recovery time will be on the shorter side of normal. But the brace he has to wear itches. These damn things always itch.

 

Two weeks since he last saw her. Three weeks since they almost died, alone, together, in the middle of Antarctica. Three weeks since she saved his life. He rings the doorbell and leans back on his crutches and waits.

 

He hears footsteps coming and straightens, but when the door opens, the woman on the other side is not Carter. She’s not completely unfamiliar either. Jack tilts his head to the side a little bit, trying to figure out the connection. “Excuse me,” he says. “I’m looking for Captain Carter? Sam? Carter?”

 

The woman nods. “I’m her mother,” she says.

 

Oh. Jack feels surprised, though he shouldn’t be. He knew her mother lived in town. But it had never occurred to him before that they might live together. Carter lives with her mom.

 

She’s a tall woman, quite like her daughter, and she stands in the doorway now, her long arms folded across her chest like a sentinel standing guard.

 

“Mrs. Carter,” he says. As a general rule, Jack works hard to make sure he never appears caught off-guard or otherwise ruffled, but somehow it feels like this woman sees right through him. Maybe his need to see Carter is throwing him off-balance. Or maybe it’s just the crutches. He clears his throat. “I’m Colonel Jack O’Neill.”

 

Mrs. Carter nods. “Sam’s commanding officer,” she says, and it almost sounds like an accusation.

 

Jack wants to make a joke - _the one and only,_ maybe, or _so you’ve heard of me?_ But nothing feels right. Maybe it’s because he almost died. Or maybe it’s because he almost let this woman’s daughter die on his watch. Three weeks ago.

 

So instead he just nods. Mrs. Carter continues to stand in the doorway, appraising him, when Jack hears lighter, faster footsteps approaching the door. _Saved by the toddler_ , Jack thinks. Perhaps Amy will vouch for him.

 

“Jack!” Amy cries. She hops through the door and slams into his legs, hugging him. Jack drops one crutch as he tries to gently but quickly shift her so she’s not putting pressure on the break, where the pain still shoots when you put pressure on it, just like she’s doing now.

 

“Hey, you,” he says, standing back up once she’s moved and mussing her wispy hair. She barely had any hair at all when he first met her last fall, but it’s really starting to grow in now, soft blond curls. “You miss me?”

 

“Yes!” Amy says, smiling up at him. “I’m eating blueberries. You want some?”

 

“Oh,” Jacksays, and he looks up at Mrs. Carter for a clue as to how he should respond. At this point he doesn’t even know if Carter, his Carter, the one he came here to see, is home.

 

Mrs. Carter’s face has softened somewhat and she takes a step back into the house. “Would you like to come in, Colonel O’Neill?” she says.

 

“Thanks,” he says, bending down once more to retrieve the fallen crutch. “Please, call me Jack.”

 

“Jack,” she nods. “You can call me Jane.”

 

Jane it is. Jane Carter. He steps carefully inside and follows her past a staircase, through a generous living room to the back of the house, where a large kitchen opens up onto another room that looks like it used to be a sun room, or a family room, but is now unquestionably a child’s play room. Large, colorful plastic blocks litter the floor, there’s a pile of crayons next to a pack of construction paper on a small table against the wall. A fat yellow cat lounges on a miniature purple recliner next to an assortment of stuffed animals and several piles of children’s books. In front of Jack, a kitchen counter peninsulas out from the wall and divides the kitchen and the playroom. Four stools are lined up against it, and Jane hoists Amy up onto one of them while indicating another where Jack can sit, though he prefers to stand in situations like this, even with the crutches.

 

“Sam should be home any minute now,” Jane says. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, maybe?”

 

Jack nods. “Thanks.”

 

She reaches into the cupboard and grabs a mug with flowers on it, then pours him a steaming cup of strong-looking coffee. “Cream?” she says.

 

“Black is fine,” Jack replies, though honestly, a little cream wouldn’t hurt. There’s black coffee and then there’s this. It’s really strong.

 

“Here’s a blueberry!” Amy says, holding out a single berry to him. The way she’s says blueberries, she kind of smushes all the consonants together, and Jack does his very best not to chuckle. Three-syllable words are hard, after all, even for someone who’s getting close to two years old.

 

“Thank you, Amy,” Jack says, popping the blueberry in his mouth. “This is delicious,” he says.

 

Amy looks pleased. “Delicious,” she tries. Another three-syllable word, but she mostly gets it, and Jack can’t help but grin.

 

“My favorite,” Jack says.

 

“My favorite too!” Amy squeals. “You want more?”

 

Jack says yes and Amy smiles widely as she passes Jack a second blueberry. Jane’s got a little bit of a smile on her face now too, though Jack can tell she’s holding other things back, probably something along the lines of _why the hell did my daughter go missing and then miraculously reappear covered in frostbite?_ though Jack is only guessing.

 

“What are your sticks?” Amy asks, sliding a third blueberry across the counter in his direction and giving his crutches a funny look.

 

“I broke my leg,” Jack says.

 

“You _broke_ your _leg_?” Amy scrunches up her face and looks at him like he’s crazy, and she looks so much like her mother that Jack wonders how often Carter has the impulse to look at him like that but holds it back.

 

“It’s getting better. But right now it’s hard to walk. The sticks help.”

 

Amy considers this for a moment. “Can you read me a story?” she says, apparently having come to terms with the idea of a broken leg and moved on.

 

“Amy, when we’re done with lunch, it’s going to be time for your nap,” Jane reminds her, but Amy starts squirming backwards off her stool anyway, and Jack, alarmed, turns to Jane, because it looks like Amy’s about to fall off her stool, and he’s not exactly in a position to dive and catch her. But Jane doesn’t look concerned.

 

“She can do it,” Jane says quietly, and sure enough, Amy scoots her butt to the back edge of the stool and then plants her hands on the front of her stool and slides her legs around to the sides, climbing off safely like she’s done it a million times before. She runs to one of the stacks of books in her playroom and starts sorting through it as Jack hears the front door open.

 

“I’m home,” a voice calls.

 

It’s her.

 

Jack feels a real and tangible wave of relief wash over him. For three days, three long, awful days, while he laid dying in that cave of ice, her voice was what he held onto, her voice was the last thing he heard, the only thing he heard, and he hasn’t heard it for two weeks. He sways a little on his feet. He’s staring intently at the hallway that leads to the front door, but out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Jane’s eyes are on him.

 

There’s something about this woman. He’s not sure he could get anything past her if he tried.

 

“We’re in the kitchen,” Jane calls back, and seconds later, there she is. Jack presses his lips together and breaths out slowly through his nose, trying not to visibly react - anymore than he already has - to her presence.

 

“Sir,” she says, her surprise apparent. “I didn’t know you were here.” She sets her keys and a bag of groceries on the counter and motions toward the driveway, which is devoid of his truck.

 

“I came in a cab,” he says. “The leg. I’m not supposed to drive.” Daniel would’ve given him a ride, if he’d asked, but…. But he doesn’t want Daniel hovering around right now. And he doesn’t want to think too much about why that is.

 

“Of course,” she says. Her eyes dart to his leg, to his crutches, to her mom, and then back to him. “Mom, this is Colonel Jack O’Neill, my commanding officer.”

 

Jane smiles. “We’re acquainted,” she says.

 

Amy, who up to this point has been fully engrossed in the task of picking out a book, now looks up and sees her mom. “Mama!” she cries, throwing herself at Carter’s legs in much the same way she had thrown herself at Jack’s five minutes ago.

 

“Hey sweetie,” Carter says, bending down to hug her daughter. “How was lunch?”

 

“You’re home!” Amy says, still holding tightly to Carter’s legs.

 

“I said I would be, didn’t I?” Carter says, but she looks nervously over at Jack and then at her mother again, and Jack wonders what kind of conversations have been happening in this house about whether she’ll come home again when she leaves.

 

Jane clears her throat and straightens up. “Ok little girl,” she says to Amy. “Time for your nap.”

 

Amy frowns. “I want a story.” She looks plaintively at Jack, clutching the book she’s chosen tightly to her chest.

 

“I’ll read you a story,” Jane says, holding out her hand.

 

“I want _Jack_ ,” Amy clarifies.

 

Jack spares a glance for each of the Carter women, and then with great effort, he squats down, the leg in a brace sticking forward awkwardly. “How about you bring this one to my house next time you come, and I’ll read it to you then?” he proposes. Hopefully by then, he’ll be doing better, he won’t have these damn crutches, she’ll be able to sit on his lap properly and have a story.

 

Amy seems to think this is an acceptable compromise. “Ok,” she says. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek, and Jack closes his eyes as he returns her hug. Then she takes Jane’s outstretched hand and they walk out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “See you guys,” she says.

 

“ _See you guys_?” Jack repeats, amused, as he straightens himself back up to standing.

 

Carter allows a small laugh. “Yeah,” she says. “That one is new.” She’s still looking down the hallway after Jane and Amy, the only things that had been standing between her and whatever he came here to say.

 

What _did_ he come here to say?

 

“Carter - “ he begins, but she jumps in instead.

 

“How’s you leg, sir?”

 

“Oh,” he says. “It’s a leg. A little broken. A lot broken, actually, but cleanly, and well-set, so, you know. Should live to fight another Goa’uld, as they say.”

 

She nods and looks at him now, but not at his face, just at his leg, like she’s studying it. He feels quite sure she knows his prognosis, knows that he’ll be fine, that they’ll be back on rotation in another month or two. Daniel and Teal’c had been visiting him regularly in the infirmary, which is easy enough for them, since Teal’c lives at the SGC and Daniel practically lives there these days and neither one of them went missing and nearly died at the bottom of the world.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, still studying his leg. “I’m sorry I didn’t… I couldn’t… I mean, I should’ve -“

 

“Hey,” he says. He hobbles two steps towards her, and it’s awkward, but finally, her eyes meet his and in their crystal blue he sees doubt and unease, which is not a look he’s used to seeing on her. “That’s not why I came here.”

 

“Why did you come here, sir?” And isn’t that just the question.

 

“I wanted to see you,” he says, and it’s just a little bit more honest than he’s supposed to be with her, so he amends his statement slightly. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

 

She nods and looks back down at the counter, which she’s now leaning against. “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by. I haven’t been at work at all, actually. I’ve been sticking close to home. It was hard, with Amy…”

 

She trails off and Jack nods, not sure what to say to that.

 

“General Hammond called my mom,” she says, more quietly now. “He told her I was declared missing in action. He said they hadn’t given up hope, but she knows what missing in action means.”

 

It means they think you’re dead. It means they’re scaling back their search efforts because they assume they’re looking for a body now.

 

It’s quiet for a while until Carter speaks again. “It wasn’t even the Goa’uld,” she says so quietly it’s almost a whisper, but her eyes snap up to his, fiery and pleading at the same time. “I thought, if I died fighting the Goa’uld, protecting this planet, keeping everyone safe, keeping Amy safe, that would be ok, that would _mean_ something, but this…” She throws her arms up in the air, and Jack knows exactly what she means, she means nothing. To die on a slab of ice because of a gate malfunction, it would’ve meant nothing.

 

But he can’t let her think that way, not Carter. He remembers the way her eyes shone the first time she looked at the event horizon of an active wormhole, and he resolves to do or say whatever he can to strike this defeatism from her voice, because the Goa’uld scare him, freezing to death in Antarctica scares him, but this, this is terrifying.

 

He hobbles two more steps closer until he can touch her, and he does, he puts a hand on her elbow and she flinches. “We made it,” he says emphatically, holding on to her elbow. “Thanks to you, we made it.”

 

Carter scoffs. “Thanks to Daniel,” she says. “And everyone at the SGC. And everyone at McMurdo.” She meets his gaze again. “We got lucky, sir,” she says.

 

“Luck was a part of it,” he agrees. There’s no denying that. “But not the only part. All this time. It’s not just luck. We’re doing the right things out there.”

 

“Are we?” she says, and then she asks the question he’s been afraid of, the one he came here today to acknowledge, to answer to, even if he didn’t know it until this moment: “Is it worth it?”

 

He breathes in and out slowly, doing his best to reign in the emotions rushing through him at this question. Once he’s collected himself, he responds. “It was to me,” he says, his voice deep and quiet. “This time. It was to me.” And there’s so much he’s not saying, that maybe next time it will be someone else, something else, maybe someday it will be her, and maybe someday they won’t be lucky, or they won’t be right, and he hopes to god he never sees a day when any one of them doesn’t make it home for real. But they never can know. They only can hope, and believe, and fight.

 

He can’t bring himself to actually say all that out loud, so instead he holds her gaze, steady and intense. He has no idea how long they stand there staring at each other, but finally she breathes out and closes her eyes and seems to relax, just a little bit. And that’s good enough for now.

 

“Let me give you a ride home, sir,” she says, reaching for her keys.

 

“Nah,” he says. He leans one arm against a crutch and uses the other arm to dig his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ve got the cab company on speed dial.”

 

“It’s no trouble,” she says.

 

“Neither is this,” he insists.

 

She nods and presses her lips together, glancing once more at his leg and his crutches before meeting his gaze again, her eyes now full of sincerity. “Thanks for coming, sir,” she says.

 

—

 

“You seem to be feeling better,” Jane remarks while the two of them clean up after Amy has gone to bed that night. Jane is in the kitchen and Sam is in the play room on the other side of the counter.

 

“I’m fine,” Sam says, and she hears her mother chuckle as she squirts soap into the dishwasher.

 

“I know you’re fine,” Jane says. “You’ve been perfectly fine ever since you got home from wherever you were. But tonight, you seem better.”

 

Her mom knows her too well, knows that Sam has always hidden behind the word “fine” to the point where it’s almost meaningless. So Sam shrugs and turns back to the little plastic blocks she’s putting away. They’re scattered all over the floor, and just when she thinks she’s got them all, she spots another one somewhere across the room.

 

“Did you and Colonel O’Neill have a good talk?” Jane asks.

 

Sam considers her response. It was a good talk. It was short and awkward, but good. It was exactly the talk she needed, actually. “Yeah,” she says, “we did.”

 

“Good,” Jane says. She closes the dishwasher, presses a few buttons to start it up, then turns on the stove to heat the kettle for her evening cup of tea. “He seems alright.”

 

“He is,” Sam agrees quickly, perhaps too quickly. Jane is looking interested as she walks around the counter into the play room, sitting down on the arm chair near Sam.

 

“You know,” Jane says, “he’s very -”

 

“Don’t say it, mom,” Sam cuts in, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Don’t say what?”

 

“He’s my commanding officer. Don’t even mention that he’s good-looking.”

 

“Hey,” Jane says. “You know I wouldn’t do that.” She leans forward and kisses the top of Sam’s head.

 

Sam looks up sheepishly from her spot on the floor. She should give her mother more credit. Jane knows that in Sam’s line of work, the last thing she needs is talk about her commanding officer’s looks, even just teasing, even just at home. And Jane knows all about Jonas, who was never a commanding officer, but who was a fellow officer, and that was bad enough.

 

“I was going to say,” Jane starts again, “that he’s very good with Amy.”

 

“Oh,” Sam says, relieved. “Yeah, those two. They’ve got this… I don’t know. This connection.”

 

Jane nods knowingly. “You were like that with your Uncle Irving.”

 

“Really?” Sam asks.

 

“Oh yeah,” Jane says with a chuckle. “We didn’t see them very often, maybe once or twice a year when you were little? But any time we did, your eyes would light up and you’d go straight to him. Lucy would get so jealous.” Jane has two sisters, and Lucy is the older one. Her husband, Irving, died of a heart attack when Sam was in high school.

 

“Huh,” Sam says. She doesn’t remember a whole lot about Uncle Irving except that she liked him.

 

“Anyway,” Jane says, shifting the conversation back to Colonel O’Neill. “It was nice to meet him today. And Amy seems so taken with him.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a shrug. “I don’t know what it is, there’s just something about him. For Amy.” Sam glances around the room one more time. It looks like she finally got all the blocks.

 

“It’s probably because he’s so good-looking,” Jane says with a teasing smile.

 

“Mom!” Sam says, smacking Jane gently on the leg.

 

Jane just laughs and stands up, the kettle has started to whistle. “Hey” she says. “Don’t ‘mom’ me. You started it.”

 

 

 


	10. Politics

They have a team night at Jack’s house the weekend before he’s finally going to be allowed back on active duty after eight long weeks healing from the whole Antarctica/broken leg/almost died thing. It’s late May by now, so Jack grills up hot dogs and brats and they eat outside on the deck.

 

A couple months ago, Jack picked up a cheap plastic high chair at a garage sale down the street from his house, so Amy has her own designated place to sit on team nights. He brings the high chair out with the other deck furniture and lines it up at the table. She sits between Jack and her mom.

 

Amy is doing a truly impressive job of not eating her dinner despite Carter’s attempts to cajole her to do so, and even Jack’s. She’s eaten half of her hot dog and some generous finger-fulls of ketchup and mustard, but that’s about all she seems interested in tonight.

 

Eventually, she looks over at Jack. “I want a special treat,” she says, her eyes serious.

 

“Oh you do, huh?” Jack says appraisingly. “The problem is, I’m looking at your plate, and I see…” he points ominously at the pile of spinach.

 

Amy frowns. “I don’t like spinach.”

 

“I know for a fact that’s not true,” Jack says.

 

“I don’t like spinach _now_ ,” she says, apparently trying to express a change of heart. “I want a special treat. No spinach. I’m done.”

 

“Well,” Jack says. “I appreciate you coming to me about this matter, but the person you really should discuss it with is your mother.”

 

Jack looks over at Carter, and Amy turns too, an imploring look on her face. Carter smiles and shakes her head. “Alright,” she says. “You can be done. But let’s wash those hands up before we get a treat, ok?” The treat will undoubtedly be a piece of fruit masquerading as dessert, and poor Amy is still too young to know she’s being played.

 

The two Carters go inside and Daniel turns to Jack with a confused look on his face.

 

“So that… you understood that?” Daniel says.

 

Jack makes a face at Daniel. “You didn’t?”

 

“I mean, I heard noises, but not… words. Did she say ‘all gone’ at one point?”

 

Jack chuckles at Daniel’s confusion but then notices that Teal’c is not sharing in his amusement at Daniel’s expense.

 

“Teal’c, buddy, back me up here,” Jack says.

 

But the Jaffa subtly shakes his head and says, “I cannot.”

 

Jack actually thinks Amy’s language skills are pretty amazing for her age. The problem is, learning your first language as a little kid is nothing at all like learning your second or third or twentieth language as an adult, when you’ve got something else for a point of reference. Kids start out speaking in individual words and commands, the nouns and verbs of life, but they quickly learn to incorporate all the little words, the pronouns and articles and contractions and other things they hear a thousand times a day. It’s hard for adults to interpret these little words when all they’re expecting is simple nouns and verbs, but once you reset your expectations about what the kid is capable of, things can clear up pretty quickly.

 

Jack isn’t going to explain any of this to Daniel though. “Hm,” he says instead with a satisfied smirk. “Maybe I’m the one who should’ve been a linguist.”

 

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Just because you speak toddler doesn’t mean you’d make a good linguist.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Jack shoots back. “The next time we come across a planet full of adults who speak exclusively toddler, who are you going to come crawling back to?”

 

“Very funny, Jack,” Daniel says, though Teal’c does seem like he’s trying not to snicker over on the other side of the table.

 

At that moment, Amy and Carter step back out onto the porch, hands washed. “Ok,” Carter says brightly. “Anyone else want some orange slices?”

 

—

 

Their first couple missions back are easy. Hammond’s got them babysitting field teams, poking around long-empty pyramids, stuff like that. They’re doing their best to avoid situations where they might have to run for their lives, though Jack feels confident that his leg would carry him just as well as it always has. He understands Hammond’s instinct for caution, but he can’t shake the growing suspicion that something is coming. It’s been too quiet. They’re being too cautious. They’re running out of time.

 

Then on P3R-233, Daniel gets unexpectedly detained in what he’s calling an alternate reality, and comes back just in time for a surprise hearing with everyone’s favorite ass-kisser, Samuels, and everyone’s sure-to-be new favorite politician, a certain Senator Kinsey. Jack doesn’t pay attention to politics and doesn’t know anything about this guy, but he feels quite certain already that he won’t like him. At all.

 

The briefing is in two hours, and Carter has disappeared to her lab or wherever she disappears to, probably to re-read everything she’s ever read before on this alternate reality stuff. She seemed pretty adamant that it was possible, if unprecedented.

 

Meanwhile, Jack and Teal’c get stuck eating mystery stew with Daniel, whose impassioned re-recounting of his escapades is wasted on Jack.

 

“You’re preaching to the choir, Daniel,” Jack says finally, between bites of what’s most likely pork.

 

“Really?” Daniel says, looking hopeful.

 

“Sure,” Jack confirms. “You see, it doesn’t matter if we think you’re crazy. We also think you’re right.”

 

“Indeed,” Teal’c nods. “I have felt for some time now that an attack is coming.” Jack looks up and points at Teal’c in agreement. He loves it when their instincts are in sync, though it loves it somewhat less when they’re both sensing immanent danger. “We must prepare ourselves for this battle. It is reasonable to assume the attack will follow a similar pattern, even if specific details of the other reality were different from ours.”

 

Jack snorts into his stew. “I’d say there were some pretty different specific details.”

 

“Yeah, speaking of which,” Daniel says, “do you think you could’ve been less of a dick about the whole Sam thing?”

 

“What?” Jack says, his head snapping up sharply. “When was I a dick?” He’s well aware that he can be a dick sometimes, but he doesn’t think this was one of those times.

 

“Oh come on, Jack,” Daniel says. “When I said the other you and the other Sam were engaged, you acted like you couldn’t think of anything less desirable.”

 

“Hey. I’ll have you know I found it plenty desirable,” Jack says before he can stop himself. Daniel laughs out loud and Teal’c’s eyebrow shoots all the way up to where a hairline would be, if he had any hair.

 

Jack rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” He glances around the commissary to try discern if anyone heard him. It’s crowded, which is bad, but there’s lots of ambient noise from everyone else talking and chewing and stomping around in their combat boots, which is helpful. “I just meant… I just meant that that that’s not what I meant.”

 

Now Daniel raises and eyebrow and Teal’c nearly smirks. They’ve made him squirm _and_ they’re enjoying it. This is not ok.

 

But Jack’s mind keeps turning that brief conversation over in his head, and he’s struggling to come up with something witty to say. Finally, he relents. “Was I really a dick?” he asks, directing his question at Teal’c.

 

Teal’c nods solemnly. “I agree with Daniel Jackson’s assessment,” he says, and Jack throws his hands up in the air.

 

“I just meant that it was weird,” he tries to explain.

 

“Really?” Daniel says. He picks up his fork and fishes a carrot out of his bowl of stew, then points the carrot at Jack. “I always thought you two had a pretty good connection. Kind of a spark, even.”

 

Jack’s jaw drops at this, and his fork drops to his tray. But Teal’c, across the table, is nodding. “You are indeed well-suited.”

 

“Hey!” Jack hisses sharply, recovering from his shock. He’s got to put a stop to this. His eyes dart around the room again and he leans forward, continuing in a whisper. “You can’t say stuff like that. This is the US military. If you even _think_ something like that, someone will start a rumor and her career will be over.”

 

Across the table from him, the civilian and the alien seem unimpressed. “But not yours?” Daniel says.

 

“This is not a joke,” Jack says, speaking in a more normal voice now. “And this is not a conversation either. I’m not saying it’s fair. I’m just saying, that’s the way it is.” To do right by her means to be aware of this double standard and not make things worse for her than they already are, a woman in a field where she’s outnumbered ten to one, through his own privileged ignorance.

 

“But if things weren’t that way…” Daniel prompts with a casual wave of his hand.

 

“I swear to god, Daniel,” Jack says. “I think I’d rather be talking to this Kinsey guy right now.”

 

Jack stabs his stew angrily for emphasis. Daniel loves to look down his academic nose at the Air Force when they do prosaic things like have rules, but he needs to understand that this is not something to scoff at. Rules like this exist to protect people like Carter, to protect their whole team.

 

But the worst part is that Daniel and Teal’c are right. There _is_ a spark, or something, with Carter, at least for him. Jack likes to think he’s a self-aware kind of guy, and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s aware that he likes the sound of her voice more than he should, that he still remembers that kiss in the locker room from all those months ago, and that he got weirdly codependent for a little while there after they almost died together in Antarctica.

 

It doesn’t help that, objectively speaking of course, she’s gorgeous and brilliant and tough as nails and competent as hell. It doesn’t help that her legs go on for days and her smile could light up a black hole and he’s never, ever seen anyone make their class As look so sexy.

 

If things weren’t the way they were with the Air Force, like Daniel said, it would maybe be tempting to at least let himself _think_ about… something.

 

But no. No. If he respects her at all, and he does, he won’t do that to her. Jack vows anew to keep it above board, to maintain a professional distance, to not provide any more fodder for a potential rumor mill, to forget about her in the locker room kissing him in that short tank top. He’ll only ever call her Carter, he’ll only ever _think_ of her as Carter. And they’ll be good teammates, they’ll be kick-ass teammates, and they might even be friends, and they might even beat the Goa’uld, and he will not ruin her career.

 

—

 

SG-1 sits in a darkened control room. Where technicians and SFs and other personnel usually mill about, where lights usually flash and indicators beep, there’s nothing, no one, quiet. Kinsey has shut the down the Stargate Program, and with it, any real hope of protecting planet Earth from the Goa’uld.

 

Maybe the attack is still a long way off. Or maybe Apophis is on his way now, as Daniel seems convinced he is. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Closing down the Stargate won’t make the Goa’uld go away, now, later, ever. This might be their only shot.

 

“Let me ask you something, Jack,” Daniel says, impassioned. “If we don't go through now, and the Goa'uld do attack later, how are you going to feel?”

 

“I'd feel like an idiot,” the Colonel says. His eyes are locked with Daniel’s. “We go.”

 

“I too will go,” says Teal’c.

 

The Colonel turns to Sam. “You’re sitting this one out, Captain,” he says.

 

“No sir,” she says, her face defiant.

 

“That’s an order, Captain,” he says. His tone is commanding, but she scoffs.

 

“Some things are more important than orders,” she says, though she can hardly believe she’s saying it. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you didn’t feel that way too.” She squares her shoulders and feels a flash of the woman she was back in their first briefing together, not the teasing, putting him in his place part, but the part where she projects more confidence than she has, because she’s going on this mission, and nothing he can say will stop her.

 

“Carter,” he says, dropping his voice to a quieter volume. “You’ve got Amy.”

 

She narrows her eyes at him and doesn’t even bother trying to hide the fact that this comment pisses her off. He probably didn’t mean to come across as patronizing, but did he think she’d forgotten? About her child? Amy is what motivates her to see this through, now more than ever. It’s Amy’s life on the line too, not just her own, not just her career. This is not a hard decision to make.

 

She breaks her eye lock with the Colonel and turns abruptly to Daniel. “Ask me the same question you just asked him,” she says.

 

“Uh, ok,” Daniel says. “How would you feel if we didn’t go through now and the Goa’uld attacked later?”

 

“I’d never forgive myself,” Sam says without hesitation.

 

The Colonel sighs. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s gear up.”

 

 


	11. The Serpent's Lair

A week and a half after SG-1 lights up the heavens with the explosion of two Goa’uld motherships, Amy Carter turns two. Jane has insisted on having a party, and she further insists that Sam invite her team. This time, Sam relents. Janet and Cassie will be coming too, so it’s not like it’ll be just the Carters and SG-1. Plus, it’s been a year now. It’s time she has her team over, she decides.

 

Fortuitously, Amy’s birthday falls on a Saturday this year, so that’s when the party is scheduled. She invites the Colonel and he says he’ll come. She invites Teal’c next and he says he’ll come too. Then she invites Daniel. “On the 27th?” Daniel asks.

 

“Yep,” Sam says. “Saturday.”

 

“Did you talk to Jack yet?” he asks.

 

“I did,” Sam replies. “He’s coming.”

 

“Really?” Daniel says, looking a little bit surprised.

 

Sam narrows her eyes at him in confusion. “Why? What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

 

“Ok,” Sam says, and decides to let it go. “So, are you coming?”

 

“Of course,” he says with a smile that’s genuine. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

A few days before the party, Sam asks her mom, “Do you know if dad will be here on Saturday?”

 

Jane gives a small but tight smile. “He’s going to try make it,” she says. Sam learned decades ago that that means no.

 

On the morning of Saturday, June 27, Sam goes to the party store and gets two dozen brightly-colored helium balloons, which hardly fit in her small car. The look on Amy’s face though, when she sees them strewn about the deck and the back yard, makes it completely worth the hassle.

 

Mark and Heather and the boys get there around 10:00, Janet and Cassie arrive at 10:45, and the rest of SG-1 arrives together promptly at 11:00. That’s the time you schedule a party to start when the birthday girl herself usually takes a nap from 1-3. Sam greets them in the driveway and hugs Daniel, hugs Teal’c, who’s clad in a stylish fedora, and smiles sincerely at the Colonel.

 

Each of them is holding a present wrapped in colorful paper. “I said no gifts,” Sam says.

 

“Yeah,” Daniel says. “Jack explained that that just means we shouldn’t go overboard.”

 

She huffs a laugh while the Colonel smiles innocently.

 

Sam walks them through the house to the deck, where she sets their presents down on a table that holds all the other presents. She introduces them to her mother, her brother, and her sister-in-law.

 

“Jack,” Jane says, though Sam had introduced him to everyone as Colonel O’Neill, “Nice to see you again.” This draws curious looks from Daniel and Teal’c, which Jane seems to enjoy. She shakes everyone’s hands and smiles warmly at them all. “I hope you boys are hungry.”

 

—

 

Lunch has been eaten, and Jack has been told there will soon be cake and presents, followed immediately by nap time for at least two, maybe more of the party guests. He’s standing on the deck, leaning against the railing, while the four kids - Amy, her cousins, and Cassie - run around in the yard, laughing and screaming and falling down, their happy sounds echoing hollow in Jack’s head. Two years old, two years…

 

Carter’s brother Mark has filled a kiddie pool with soapy water and he and Teal’c are helping the kids hold massive ropes that they pull to make gigantic bubbles. Everyone looks delighted, even Teal’c, and that’s really saying something.

 

Jack likes Amy an awful lot. He’s always said that dogs and kids are his favorite people, but that’s the kind of thing that’s easy to say, especially when you don’t spend a lot of time with either dogs or kids. Not since Charlie, at least.

 

He looks at Amy as she runs across the lawn, trying to catch a giant bubble that the older boy, Kyle, was it? has just made. The smile on her face is so pure, so untainted by the inevitable pain and disappointment that the very act of living imparts.

 

He sees flashes of a different child, a boy, older but still so innocent, so earnest, so full of hope and longing and joy. Jack has gotten pretty good at hiding away his thoughts of Charlie when Amy is around, but right now he is failing miserably. He knew today would be hard, but he had thought he would do better than this. Amy squeals as Teal’c spins off a series of bubbles in her direction. Jack wonders if Charlie would’ve been disappointed, ultimately, at the reality of life, once you’re done chasing bubbles and catching baseballs and you have to come to terms with goddamn reality. Two years. Two fucking years. He sighs and looks longingly at the house. Maybe he just needs a minute.

 

—

 

“Have you seen the Colonel?” Sam says to Daniel, who’s sipping his iced tea on the deck, looking out over the yard.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Daniel says, looking somewhat guilty. “He went inside, I think.”

 

Sam frowns. “He ok?”

 

Daniel sighs, takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose before putting them back on. That’s never a good sign.

 

“What?” Sam says, her tone demanding. She’s not going to let it go this time. Clearly, something is up.

 

Daniel regards her for a second, and then appears to make up his mind about something. “Charlie died on June 26. Two years ago, June 26.”

 

Sam feels the color drain from her face. That was yesterday. Yesterday two years ago, that means… “Oh my god, Daniel,” she says. That means Amy was born the day after Charlie died. “Why didn’t you say something?” she asks, though it’s not his fault, of course.

 

Daniel looks apologetic. It’s not his fault but it is a really, really shitty situation. “Would it have changed anything?”

 

Sam doesn’t know, she thinks maybe it would have, but it’s too late for that now. She can’t believe she made her commanding officer, of all people, come to her two-year-old’s birthday party the day after the two-year anniversary of his own child’s death. She scans the yard again, hoping to catch sight of him this time. She sees Mark and his kids blowing bubbles with Teal’c, and Heather talking to Janet and Cassie while Jane looks on.

 

“Hey, do you see Amy anywhere?” Sam says, straightening up now and turning toward the house.

 

“Oh,” Daniel says. “Um… no.”

 

Sam walks briskly toward her mom. “Was Amy with you?” she says. She really thought Amy was with her mom.

 

“I left her inside,” Jane says. At Sam’s confused look, she adds, “with Jack.”

 

Sam spins on her heel and walks even more briskly into the house. The sliding door opens onto the play room adjacent to the kitchen, and there in the corner, on the floor, sits her commanding officer, with Amy in his lap. He’s reading her a book, one Sam hasn’t seen before.

 

“ _I was a shadow as we walked home,_ ” the Colonel reads in a soft, steady voice. In his lap, Amy is still and staring at an illustration of a snow white landscape lit only by the moon. She looks totally entranced. “ _When you go owling, you don’t need words or warm or anything but hope,_ ” he continues reading. Sam leans against the door frame. The Colonel glances up at her and then back down at the book. It looks like they’re almost done. “ _That’s what Pa says. The kind of hope that flies on silent wings under a shining Owl Moon._ ”

 

“Mmmm,” Amy says as the Colonel closes the book. She snuggles farther into his lap and stretches her small arms up over her head to give him a backwards hug. “I love this book,” she says. “Thank you.”

 

“You bet," he says. He tucks his head into her hair and Sam sees him take a deep breath before looking up and meeting her gaze. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says to her as he rises and sets Amy gently on the floor. “I know it’s not presents time yet.”

 

Sam looks now and sees a pile of about eight new books sitting on the floor next to Amy and the Colonel, all different sizes and types. She doesn’t quite trust herself to speak, she doesn’t want to break this moment, so she shakes her head, of course she doesn’t mind.

 

“Can we do another?” Amy says, tugging on Jack’s hand and holding up a book with a kid and a bear and lots of blueberries on the cover.

 

The Colonel looks at Sam, silently asking for a cue from her as to whether she’s come to summon them for the next activity or what. But Sam still can’t quite find it in herself to speak, she’s mostly just putting all her energy into not letting herself cry at the sight before her right now. So she just nods at him, then smiles as genuinely as she can, and goes back outside as the Colonel and Amy settle themselves back down on the floor.

 

—

 

They sing happy birthday, they eat cake and ice cream outside on the deck, they open presents. Teal’c got Amy a toy pancakes set, with little velcro tabs on each pancake and a bunch of little velcro bananas and chocolate chips and blueberries and pats of butter. She loves it. Daniel got her a large stuffed teddy bear. She loves that too, and she promptly names it Jack. When Sam gently reminds her that the bear is from Daniel, not Jack, Amy just smiles at Daniel, thanks him, and tells him she loves her Jack. The bear, presumably.

 

As soon as the presents are opened, Jane whisks Amy and the younger of her two cousins inside and upstairs. Even birthday girls need to take naps, apparently.

 

Teal’c and Daniel are helping clean up lunch and cake, like the good teammates they are, and as for Carter, she’s out on the other end of the deck stuffing ripped wrapping paper into a large gift bag. Jack approaches her slowly, wondering if he can pull off casual right now, but she stiffens as soon as she hears him coming. So much for casual. He wasn’t really feeling it anyway.

 

“Can I give you a hand?” he says.

 

“Thanks, sir,” she says, straightening up and surveying the table and surrounding chairs, “but I think I’m just about done.”

 

So he stands there awkwardly, watching her grab the last few pieces of tissue paper and wondering how to talk to her right now. He’d noticed the look on her face while she was watching him with Amy earlier. She’s seen him read books with Amy plenty of times, but she’s never looked quite so heartbroken about it before. Someone must have told her. Daniel must have told her.

 

But before he can decide what to say or whether to say anything at all, she speaks. “I’m sorry about today, sir.” She’s standing stiffly, almost at attention, and he waves her off, but she’s insistent. “I am. I didn’t know.”

 

Of course she didn’t know. He didn’t tell her. This isn’t supposed to be about him, it’s supposed to be about Amy. He sighs and leans his forearms against the railing of the deck, and she follows suit. “It’s not your fault,” he says.

 

“I know,” she replies. “But it’s a really shitty coincidence.”

 

He gives a small nod. Normally, he would tell her he doesn’t believe in coincidences, that coincidences always, always make him suspicious. But he doesn’t know what she might think that implies about her. Hell, he’s not even sure what _he_ thinks it implies. Maybe it really is just a coincidence.

 

He’s been quiet for too long, and he realizes he’s been rubbing his forehead with his hand, when she speaks again. “You didn’t have to come today.”

 

“Yeah I did,” he says automatically. “It’s Amy’s birthday.” He wouldn’t have missed it, not even for… this. He just hadn’t realized it would be so hard.

 

Carter offers a small smile. “She would’ve missed you if you hadn’t come. You mean a lot to her.”

 

Yeah, and for some reason, she means a lot to him too. He thinks again about the books he’d given her today. He’s noticed how much she likes stories, so books seemed like a natural choice for a birthday present, and at the bookshop, it was easy enough to pick out books he remembered loving. It wasn’t until today that he realized that he loves them because Charlie loved them. He’d gotten her all of Charlie’s favorite books.

 

But then Amy had happened upon him while he was hiding out in the house. He’d let her open the books, and she’d oohed and aahed over each one, and then she’d crawled into his lap and asked him to read to her, and it felt… ok. After his unexpectedly debilitating bout of grief earlier, he hadn’t really expected to feel ok today. But he does.

 

“There’s just one thing I’ve been wondering for a while now,” he says finally, looking out over the yard at the toys and balloons and other birthday debris strewn about.

 

“What?” she prompts. She seems eager to do what she can, say what she can, provide whatever answer she can, to maybe somehow make this all ok.

 

“Amelia,” he says. “As in… Earhart?” He peeks over at her with a small smile on his face.

 

Carter looks shocked for a moment and then she blushes. “It’s good to have role models,” she says, an edge of defensiveness in her voice.

 

“Role models who disappear somewhere over the Pacific Ocean?” he teases.

 

Carter flusters for a moment, and then starts in. “Amelia Earhart inspired countless pilots, countless women, people everywhere… she changed the face of aviation, she redefined what it means to fly during a time when -“

 

As she keeps talking, Jack takes a deep breath in an out. Carter flustered and carrying on and on about a topic for which she feels great passion and has a ton of trivial knowledge, this feels like solid, familiar territory. He feels more and more like himself as the jargony words pile up. When she finally stops, he looks her in the eye and grimaces a little. “Disappeared over the Pacific Ocean,” he says again, just to rile her up.

 

But she doesn’t take the bait, she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes with a smile, like she’s onto him. “We’ve been more remote places than that,” she says.

 

“I don’t know,” he presses. For all the traipsing across the galaxy they do, there are things in their own back yard about which they know very little.

 

“Well, we’ve definitely been farther away,” she says, and even he can’t argue with that.

 

After a moment she adds, “Her middle name is Jane. For my mom.”

 

“Amelia Jane,” Jack says. It does have kind of a ring to it. Amelia Jane Carter. Two years old today.

 

They fall quiet again, and Jack feels the sun on his arms, hears the soft breeze that teases the green summer leaves, notices how grounding it feels to have her next to him like this, steady and solid, like she always is, his second-in-command. It’s a good back yard, he thinks, bigger than his, nicely landscaped, with a gentle slope up and lots of tall trees along the property line. The deck is immense, wrapping around the back of the whole house like a good farmhouse deck should. He imagines someone, probably Jane, spends a lot of time keeping the gardens that frame the deck looking so nice. “You ever think about putting in a swing set?” he asks.

 

“Oh,” she says. “No, I haven’t. It’s not really my house.”

 

He shrugs. Jane doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would mind in the least, but he hasn’t met Carter’s father and can’t say about him. Through the sliding door, he sees Teal’c and Daniel emerge and walk in their direction.

 

“Hey, Jack,” Daniel says. “You ready to go?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says, shifting his weight back onto his feet and facing his other teammates.

 

“Thanks for having us, Sam,” Daniel says, giving her a quick hug. “This was fun.”

 

“Sorry about the bear thing,” Carter says with a wince, but Daniel chuckles good-naturedly.

 

“Next year, I’m going to get her a stuffed donkey,” he says, looking pointedly at Jack.

 

“I dare you,” Jack says, his eyes narrowed.

 

“I enjoyed myself immensely,” Teal’c says with a nod to Carter. “Please give my thanks to your mother and the rest of your family for accommodating us on this day of celebration.”

 

“I will,” Carter says. “Thank you guys for being here. I’m really glad you came.” She gives Jack what might be interpreted as a meaningful look.

 

Jack nods. “Me too,” he says, and he means it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok everyone, buckle up, because Jolinar is next, and then........ some stuff.
> 
> FYI, the book Jack is reading to Amy here is Owl Moon by Jane Yolen, a really beautiful story about a father who takes his daughter on a silent adventure through the snow at night hoping to spot a great horned owl. My own daughter loved that book at this age, which surprised me, because it seems like a book for an older child, but the story has kind of a magical quality to it, and there's such an affection between the father and daughter, and the pictures are really stunning.
> 
> The other book briefly referenced, with the bear and the kid and the blueberries, is Jamberry by Bruce Degen, another all-time absolute favorite. Stories are going to be kind of a thing for Amy and Jack. ;-) Thanks to @crowdedangels for the question!


	12. In The Line Of Duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There are so many episodes, this one foremost among them, where I'm left shell-shocked, wondering how they'll ever possibly recover from what they just went through, and of course the show just moves merrily along to the next episode. I mean do you remember how this one ends? With Sam lying in the infirmary starting blankly at the wall? YIKES! Anyway that's where this chapter pics up. **shudders**

Carter has been Goa’uld’ed.

 

Technically, it wasn’t a Goa’uld. She says it was something called a Tok’ra, and Teal’c claims to have heard of these guys too, but it took her against her will, lied about who it was, and threatened everyone. It scared the hell out of Cassie. And it scared Jack too, if he’s honest, to hear that kind of voice coming out of his second-in-command.

 

She’s been under observation for two full days since Jolinar died, and as her third overnight in the SGC’s infirmary approaches, Dr. Frasier is still not making any noise about letting her go. Honestly, Jack understands, though he’d never admit it. The last time one of their own got snaked, he ended up dead. And it’s not that Jack doesn’t trust Carter, but he just doesn’t know about this whole Tok’ra business. She says it was telling the truth, but a snake is a snake, right?

 

And yet. Carter is despondent, borderline catatonic, and Jack finds this profoundly disconcerting. He feels a strong need to do something about it, anything, and she says she wants to go home. She says she needs to see her daughter.

 

“Physically, there’s nothing wrong with her,” Janet says with a sigh. “But we’ve never had a former Goa’uld host before. We don’t know what to expect.”

 

Jack looks over at Carter, whose face is uncharacteristically blank. “The Goa’uld, the Tok’ra, whatever, it’s dead, right?”

 

Janet shrugs. “I’ve run every possible scan and test I can think of.”

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he points out.

 

“I know,” she replies, looking apologetic. “Unfortunately there’s a lot about the Goa’uld we don’t know, and we know even less about what it means to be a former host. But as far as I can tell, yes, physically, the Goa’uld that had taken up residence in Captain Carter is dead.”

 

“Ok,” Jack says. That’s going to have to be good enough. “Then she needs to go home.”

 

Janet glances over at her patient, who is laying on her side and blinking, unseeing, at the wall.

 

“Doc, it’s been two days. She’s not going to start feeling better down here, in a concrete bunker underground. She needs to go home and be with people who love her. You _know_ that.” Jack can’t imagine what Carter must be going through, but his gut is telling him that family and home are the antidote.

 

Janet’s lips are set in a firm line. Jack can tell she’s made a decision. “She’ll need transportation.”

 

“Done,” Jack agrees quickly.

 

“And she’ll need someone to stay with her, at least for the next 48 hours, maybe longer. I can be part of the rotation but I can’t do it myself.”

 

“No problem,” Jack says.

 

“I’ll talk to the General,” she says, walking purposefully now in the direction of her office. “As long as he approves, I see no reason why Captain Carter can’t be released. I’ll leave it to you to discuss it with the rest of your team.” With that, Frasier is gone, and Jack feels a surge of relief at finally having something to do to help the situation.

 

—

 

It’s nearly midnight by the time Jack pulls into Carter’s house. The lights are on downstairs and he can see her mom has been waiting for them to arrive. Back at the mountain, Janet had insisted on wheeling Carter out to his truck, and Carter was too out of it to even protest. So now Jack parks his truck and gets out, going around to open the passenger door and offer her an arm. She takes it, and leans on him heavily as they walk slowly to the door.

 

Jane Carter opens the door for them. She takes her daughter’s arm and pulls her into a tight hug. “Oh, Sam,” she says, stroking her daughter’s hair and swaying her back and forth, as if she were just a child. And really, Jack has never seen her looking so small. She gives a quiet sob as she returns her mother’s embrace. Jack can’t help but feel like an intruder, but these were the conditions of her release, so he does his best not to appear agitated or uncomfortable. Jack can be strong and calm and quiet if he needs to be, he just doesn’t very frequently feel the need.

 

Eventually, the two Carter women break apart. “Let’s get you up to bed,” Jane suggests gently, and Carter nods, clutching her mother’s arm as the two women begin a slow journey up the stairs. Jack, remembering the layout of the house from his previous visits, ducks into the kitchen and grabs a glass of water, then follows them up the stairs.

 

Carter is sitting on a bed, her bed, probably, and Jane is pulling a pair of sweats out of the dresser. Jack hands her the glass of water and she sets it on the nightstand next to Carter, who looks at it and frowns, and then looks back at her lap.

 

“I’m going to stay up here until she falls asleep,” Jane says to Jack.

 

Jack thinks this is a very good idea, and would’ve suggested as much if she hadn’t thought of it on her own. “Ok,” he says. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Jane nods and Jack leaves the room to give the two women their privacy.

 

They’d worked out the rotation before leaving the base of who would be staying with Carter. Jack is on overnight, then Daniel will relieve him in the morning and Janet will come mid-afternoon, once Cassie is done with school, and stay until after dinner, when she’s got to go home and put Cass to bed. Then Jack is on overnight again, Daniel in the morning, and Janet in the evening, and if Janet is satisfied with how Carter’s doing, they can cut it out with the babysitting routine. Jack knows it’s for the best though, and he’s not complaining. He just thinks that normalcy is what Carter needs the most right now, and having your coworkers camped out on your couch is not exactly normal, even for SG-1.

 

It’s a half an hour before Jane joins him downstairs. She sits across from him on the couch and looks him in the eye, her back straight and her jaw set. Jack can’t help but notice how much Sam Carter looks like her. Those Carter-girl genes must be strong.

 

“Colonel O’Neill,” she addresses him, though she’s called him Jack before at his invitation.

 

“Mrs. Carter,” he says, though he’s called her Jane before. “How is she?”

 

Jane swallows. “She fell asleep right away, but I stayed with her, just in case.”

 

Jack nods. “That’s good,” he says.

 

“I’ve already spoken to George,” she says, and it takes Jack a second to realize that she’s talking about General Hammond. Jack didn’t know Hammond would be calling, he thought maybe Dr. Frasier would take care of that. It isn’t lost on Jack that she’s called him by his rank but called the General by his first name, as if to ensure that Jack will understand her as an equal to the General and senior to Jack. Clearly, she’s skilled at dealing with high-ranking Air Force officers, and he wonders all over again about Carter’s dad, whom he still hasn’t met.

 

“I know you can’t tell me what happened, but I need to be able to take care of my daughter.”

 

Jack looks down at his hands and bites back a sigh. There’s no way he could possibly convey even a fraction of what happened to Carter. What she went through, physically, is unprecedented on this planet. And emotionally, well, she’s now got the jumbled memories of a centuries-old Goa’uld resistance fighter in her head, and Jack can’t imagine they’re happy memories. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Colonel O’Neill, are you a father?”

 

Jack looks up sharply. Every now and then, someone will ask him if he has any kids, and the answer to that is an emphatic no. But Charlie made Jack a father, and there’s nothing that can change that.

 

Jane waits patiently for him to answer. “I am,” Jack says finally, his voice a little lower than he had intended.

 

“Then you understand,” she says, and Jack feels himself nodding. “If it were your child, how would you care for her, knowing what she’s been through?”

 

Jack considers this. This is a question he _can_ answer.

 

“Don’t let her be alone,” he says. “Even when she’s sleeping. Check in on her a lot. Maybe even stay in there with her, at least for tonight.” Jane nods intently. He wonders how much of getting the answer you need is figuring out the right question to ask. It’s no surprise that Carter is such an adept problem solver, if this is the woman who raised her.

 

“Physically, she should be fine. But she’s going to be confused,” he says. “Disoriented. It’s going to be hard for her to…” Jack pauses and tries to figure out how he can end that sentence. Hard for her to know what’s real? Hard for her to sort out her own memories from the memories of the hundreds-years old parasite that temporarily inhabited her? He decides to restart that thought. “She’s going to need familiar, comforting things, Amy, you, the rest of her family. She needs to feel grounded.”

 

Jane’s brow furrows as she takes in this advice. Jack can tell she’s holding back about a million questions, the foremost of which must certainly be, _what the hell have you done to my daughter?_ But she doesn’t yell, doesn’t cry, doesn’t demand answers that Jack simply can’t give. She just frowns and says, “So there’s no… medication I should make sure she takes? No physical therapy? Nothing like that?”

 

Jack shakes his head. He wishes there was a pill for this, a shot even, he wishes this was a physical pain that would heal and become nothing more than a memory.

 

“I see,” Jane says. “And how long will this… disorientation… last?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jack answers. “To be perfectly honest, it’s not even about this being classified. What happened to Sam has never happened before. Her prognosis seems good and we’re all hopeful but…”

 

“But you’re actually just making all of this up,” she finishes for him. Put that way, Jack’s whole report thus far sounds pretty unhelpful. It sounds like bullshit.

 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Carter,” he says, for lack of anything better to say.

 

But she just sighs, and seems to deflate a little bit. “Don’t apologize to me, young man,” she says. “Sam knew what she was getting herself into. It’s not your job to protect her.”

 

“Actually, it is,” Jack says with a wince. Carter’s got the best brain on the planet, she’s Earth’s foremost Stargate expert, and it has been made clear to Jack on several occasions that under no circumstances is he to let her be killed or captured or otherwise compromised. He has failed spectacularly this time.

 

But Jane just chuckles and shakes her head at him. “Sam chooses this. Every day she chooses it. I don’t have a clue what you people are doing up at that mountain, but she loves it, that much has been clear from the beginning.”

 

“Mrs. Carter -“ Jack says, but she cuts him off with a wave.

 

“Oh stop it already,” she says. “Call me Jane.”

 

“Jane,” he starts again. He feels compelled to say to her what he can, as if to atone for all the things he can’t say, maybe. “I wish I could tell you what happened. But mostly, I wish I could tell you what Sam has been doing for the last year. The work we do… I can’t tell you how important it is, and it literally wouldn’t be possible without her. I can’t even quantify her impact. She’s an outstanding officer, a brilliant scientist, and just a really good… person.” Jack falters for a moment as he realizes that he’s gushing. But this is her mom, of all people. It’s ok for him to gush a little, right? It’s not like Daniel and Teal’c are here to snicker at him and imply things they have no business implying. “You can’t know specifics but I hope you can know enough to be proud of her contributions.”

 

Jane smiles and blinks back tears. “Thank you, Jack,” she says. “She works so hard, she’s spent her life trying to prove herself, but I’ve always, always been proud of her.”

 

At that moment, Jack hears the sound of a voice over a speaker, a small voice, calling for her mother. “Oh, there’s Amy,” Jane says, gesturing towards the baby monitor that Jack just now notices is sitting on the coffee table between them. She stands, and Jack stands too, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I put a plate of food in the fridge for Sam, but you’re welcome to it, if you’re hungry. And put some coffee on, would you? I’ll be right back.”

 

Jane disappears up the stairs and Jack heads for the kitchen, makes an extra-strong pot of coffee and finds a plate of food in the fridge. It’s pork cutlets with some kind of rice pilaf thing and roasted vegetables, and it’s delicious, way better than the frozen pizza Jack had waiting for him at home, or the mystery whatever they might be serving on base at this hour. He eats standing at the kitchen counter, looking out at Amy’s neatly organized play room, brimming with toys from her recent birthday. When he finishes, he rinses the dish and puts it in the dishwasher.

 

Then he pours two mugs of coffee and heads back to the living room. A few minutes later, Jane comes down the stairs and takes up her spot on the couch across from him.

 

“I didn’t know if you took cream or sugar,” Jack says, gesturing toward the cup of coffee that’s sitting in front of Jane.

 

“Black is fine,” she says, “for a night like tonight.”

 

Jack nods, because that sounds about right to him. He watches her take a sip of her coffee and he’s possessed by a sudden urge to ask her what it is she thinks they do. She must wonder, right? She must speculate. Maybe she has some working theories that she adjusts as needed with each passing week. Does she have any idea? Could she be even close? How would a person outside the SGC even begin to process all of this?

 

At that moment, Jane leans forward and grabs the TV remote. She clicks it on and flips to a station that’s replaying a baseball game from earlier that afternoon. “Ah, there we go,” she says. Jack’s eyes widen a little bit. “Do you like baseball?” she says, her eyes not leaving the screen.

 

“You could say that,” Jack says. He played varsity in high school and he played for two years in college. He coached Charlie’s little league team. He was borderline obsessed with the Chicago Cubs for the first several decades of his life. One could fairly say he likes baseball. “Rockies fan?” On the screen, the Colorado Rockies are playing the Cincinnati Reds, and they’re down by two in the top of the ninth.

 

“God, no,” she says with distain. “I’m an Ohio girl.”

 

“Really?” Jack says.

 

“Dayton, Ohio, born and raised,” Jane replies with a smile, still not taking her eyes off the TV. “I met Jacob, Sam’s father, when I was in college and he was stationed at Wright-Patterson.”

 

So Jacob Carter is Air Force, as Jack had suspected. He wonders if he’s a Colonel too, or a General, maybe. Jack sees a nostalgic look in Jane’s eyes and wants to know more, but it feels wrong to ask personal questions when he’s had so little to offer her by way of answers this evening. “The Reds any good this year?” he asks instead.

 

Jane shrugs. “Not really. They won the division title a couple years ago, but since then, it’s been kind of downhill. To be honest, basketball is more my thing. But baseball gets me by in the summer.” She takes another sip of coffee.

 

“Ah,” Jack says. He racks his brain, trying to think of a pro team in Ohio. “Cleveland… ?”

 

“Cavaliers,” Jane finishes for him. “But what I really love is college ball.”

 

Of course. “Ohio State,” Jack says, and Jane grins at him.

 

“Go Buckeyes!” she says.

 

Jack chuckles. “You ever been to a game?” he asks.

 

“Oh yeah,” Jane says. “I used to go all the time. That’s where I took Jacob on dates.” She winks in Jack’s direction. “We’d get the cheap seats way up in the top of the stands where you could hardly see anything, but there was this energy in the air, this excitement. You could almost touch it,” she says. “I was actually thinking of taking Amy to a game sometime this winter.”

 

“Oh,” Jack says, surprised.

 

“Not an Ohio State game, nothing so crazy as that. At least, not a men’s game,” Jane says. “But I thought maybe we could go up to Denver - they’re a division one school - and catch the women’s team for an afternoon game. We could get better seats, and we wouldn’t have to worry about lines at the bathroom as much as for a men’s game. And Amy loves hot dogs. Can’t you just picture it?”

 

Jack nods. He can. He remembers the first time he took Charlie to a ball game. He wasn’t too much older than Amy is now.

 

On the TV, the Rockies score two runs in the bottom of the ninth and the game goes into extra innings. “Well,” Jane says, settling into the couch. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

 

—

 

Sam comes to slowly and takes in her surroundings. The walls are a soft, buttery yellow with a blue floral wallpaper border along the top. She’s laying in a large bed with a similar but differently blue floral quilt, and next to her, and older woman is sipping tea and reading a book.

 

“Mom?” Sam says.

 

Jane peeks around the side of her book and smiles at Sam. “Hey, Sammie,” she says.

 

“What time is it?” Sam tries for about a second to sit up and then decides not to. She’s so, so tired.

 

“It’s 4 o’clock,” Jane says. She leans over and kisses Sam’s head, then flips a page in her book and takes another sip of her tea.

 

“Amy?” Sam says.

 

“At the park with Heather and the boys.”

 

“Oh,” Sam says. “Good.” She rolls onto her back and blinks up at the ceiling. “Daniel?”

 

She’s been home for five days now. Her two days of supervision turned into seven, because Sam is still mostly just sleeping, and because some higher ups in the Air Force wanted the immediate past host to a Goa’uld to be under supervision for longer than just a couple days. So it’s been Daniel during the day, Janet in the evenings, and the Colonel overnight. Sometimes Daniel or the Colonel does a double shift, so Janet can have a normal evening at home with Cassie, and sometimes Teal’c accompanies one of them, though he’s not allowed to be here on his own. The same higher ups who wanted more supervision for the former Goa’uld also didn’t want a defected first prime serving as her keeper.

 

“Yep,” Jane says. “And Teal’c. They’re downstairs playing checkers, I think.” Sam hasn’t actually seen much of her teammates, but she has to admit, at least privately, to herself, that knowing they’re near makes her feel a little bit better, in the same way this blue floral quilt makes her feel better. Both of those things are a part of her, Sam Carter, and have nothing to do whatsoever with Jolinar of Malkshur.

 

“I made a lasagna for dinner,” Jane continues. “Janet is bringing Cassie tonight.” Jane loves Cassie. She dotes on her as if she were her own granddaughter, and Cassie basks in the affection. “I told Daniel and Teal’c they could stay if they want to.”

 

“Hmm,” Sam hums, closing her eyes again and draping her arm over her forehead. “What time are we eating?”

 

“Not ’til six.” Jane rubs Sam’s hair gently with the hand not holding her book. “You can sleep a little more, if you want.” If Sam had the energy, she’d be impressed at how few questions her mom is asking. She’s accepting without complaint the fact that Sam needs to sleep all the time. She’s cooking her favorite meals, she’s sticking close by. She’s been calm and supportive and completely present.

 

Sam can’t imagine how Jane knows it, but this is _exactly_ what she needs right now.

 

What she doesn’t need is more sleep. The nightmares… flashes of a life that’s not hers but now is, was, sort of… it’s confusing, sometimes terrifying, always destabilizing.

 

“Tell me about your book,” Sam says instead, turning back on her side so she’s facing her mom.

 

“Oh,” Jane says. “It’s another one of those detective books. Mysterious death in a small town, big city cop gets the case because it’s the same MO as some cases he worked on a few years ago. But he thought those cases were closed, he thought he’d caught the bad guy.”

 

“Huh,” Sam says. “So he got the wrong guy before.”

 

“Well, that’s just the question,” Jane says, her eyes on her book as she continues in a soft voice. “Was he wrong before or is he wrong now?”

 

Sam digs down deep in her mind to remember a previous conversation, from another lifetime, about the books her mom has been reading. “Is this the same detective as in the other books? Or just the same author?”

 

“Same detective. But he’s got a sidekick now, though she’s got her own issues.”

 

“A sidekick?” Sam asks. Her eyes keep closing involuntarily but she’s hanging on her mother’s every word. She remembers that her mom was reading a series of detective books. She remembers the big city cop.

 

“Yeah. She’s a new cop and she’s trying to be tough, to prove herself, but she just lost her mom in a car crash and she’s having a hard time dealing with it.”

 

“Hmm.” Sam is so, so tired. Sleep is pulling at her and she can’t for the life of her think of anything more to ask about this book. She’s never been interested in detective stuff anyway. But her mom’s voice is so soothing, so familiar, so perfect, she just wants more. She doesn’t ever want it to stop. “Mom?”

 

“Yes, honey?”

 

“Can you read to me?”

 

Jane looks at her, and for a moment, her eyes betray the worry and fear she must certainly feel at Sam’s confounding condition. But then she recovers, smiles, and reaches over squeezes Sam’s hand. “Of course I can,” she says. And she begins to read. “ _Night was falling as we pulled into the parking lot at the tavern. I scanned the other cars and noticed, to my dismay, that Stanley had already arrived…”_

 

—

 

Jack says hello to Jane and goodbye to Janet, Cassie, Daniel and Teal’c as they pile into two separate cars and go their separate ways from the Carter house. In the kitchen, Jane sets a delicious-smelling plate of food on the counter in front of him.

 

“Wow,” he says. “Lasagna?” Jack hasn’t had homemade lasagna in… well, a very long time. He’s willing to bet that it’s leaps and bounds above the frozen stuff he sometimes throws in the oven for himself.

 

Jane just smiles, reaches into the fridge and pulls out a beer, setting it next to the steaming plate of food. Jack wants to pinch himself.

 

“You know, technically speaking, I’m on the clock here,” he says with regret.

 

“Uh huh,” Jane says, “and technically speaking, Sam works in deep space radar telemetry.” She’s giving him a pointed look, the exact same look he’s seen on not one, but two younger generations of Carters.

 

“Touché,” he says. You never did need to twist Jack’s arm much to get him to drink a beer. He digs into his meal, and yep, it’s beat the hell out of anything he’s heated up for himself lately.

 

“This is amazing,” he says, honestly. “All of this.” He finishes chewing and swallowing his bite, and then says, “Really, I hadn’t expected you to be so…” he pauses, looking for the right word as he spears his next bite.

 

“So _what_?” Jane says, stiffening and narrowing her eyes ever so slightly.

 

“So accommodating,” Jack finishes. “Of all this.” He waves his hands and his fork around in the air - this, the constant supervision, the house guests, the late nights, the long days, her daughter’s mysterious condition, everything. “If the food I usually got to eat on duty was a fraction this good, people would be lining up down the street to join the Air Force.”

 

Jane smiles at that, and sits down next to him on a stool at the counter. “To be honest, I think it makes Sam feel better knowing one of you is here all the time. She hasn’t said anything, but I get the feeling. And if Sam is grateful for it, then I am too. This is my way of saying thanks.”

 

Jack nods and drinks his beer and wonders if he’s ever met anyone with such a generosity of spirit before. “How is she?” he asks. Since he’s on the graveyard shift, he sees even less of Carter than the others, who themselves don’t see her very much at all. Janet does a quick evaluation every day and writes up a report on her condition, but that’s not the same.

 

Jane shrugs in response. “The same, I think. Maybe a little better? She sleeps mostly. She has nightmares, though her sleep seemed a little more restful today.”

 

“And how’s Amy?” Jack sees more of Amy Carter than of Sam, usually at 6 in the morning when she’s first waking up, which is when kids are at their absolute cutest. From what he understands, Amy has been enjoying the increased snuggle time with her mom, but has been otherwise perplexed by the significant decrease in every other type of interaction.

 

“She’s ok,” Jane replies. “She’s actually been spending more time with her cousins, so I can spend my time with Sam,” Jane explains. “It’s a change for her, but she’s rolling with it.”

 

“She seems like a resilient kid,” Jack remarks.

 

“Mmm,” Jane hums in agreement. “Just like her mother.”

 

Jack nods again, more earnestly this time. “She’s going to be fine, Jane. She’s going to pull through.”

 

Jane gives him a wry smile. “But you don’t really know that for sure, do you.”

 

Jack swallows hard. No, they don’t know that. But if anyone can pull through this, it’s her. He trusts that like he trusts that the sun will rise, that the wormhole will deliver them to their target destination, that the days of the Goa’uld System Lords are numbered. He trusts it and it keeps him fighting.

 

“I don’t know it, no,” Jack admits. “But I believe it.” He holds her gaze and hopes his words convey more than the sum of their parts.

 

“Ok,” Jane says. She nods once, reaches over and squeezes his arm. “I’ll take that.”

 

She stands up then and walks back around the counter and turns on the stove under the tea kettle. “If you’re still hungry when you’re done eating, I made a cake too.”

 

Carter will pull through this and Jack will be relieved once things are back to normal, but he would be lying if he said there weren’t maybe just a few things about all of this that he’ll miss.

 

—

 

“Can I ask you something about Colonel O’Neill?”

 

It’s 9:00 at night, Amy is asleep and Sam and her mom are sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking tea. Jane is reading, she’s onto the next book in her detective series, and Sam is trying to make progress on a crossword puzzle. This is the latest she’s been able to stay awake since she came home a week ago. Teal’c and the Colonel are sitting outside on the deck, talking quietly to each other and probably trying to give the Carters the illusion of privacy.

 

“Sure,” Sam says.

 

“What happened to his child?”

 

Sam looks up from her crossword puzzle in surprise. “He died,” she says plainly.

 

“Hmm,” Jane says, nodding a little and looking not at all surprised. “That’s what I figured.”

 

Jane is famous for being able to read people, but Sam thinks this is exceptional even for her. “How did you know?”

 

“It was something he said,” Jane muses. “Or rather, something he didn’t say, I guess.” Sam tilts her head in question and Jane continues. “I asked him if he was a father and he said yes, but this whole week, he hasn’t once mentioned his child,” she explains.

 

Sam gives a small nod. “He never talks about him. Charlie. His son.”

 

They fall quiet. Sam has always wondered if it’s hard for the Colonel to be around Amy. With the exception of Amy’s recent birthday party, he’s never given any indication that it’s hard. But it must bring up memories of his son, memories of being a parent himself. She wonders how he deals with it.

 

“It’s the strangest thing, mom,” Sam says after a while. “His son Charlie died the day before Amy was born.”

 

Jane’s eyes go wide, the surprise evident on her face. It takes a lot to surprise Jane Carter. “Oh, my,” she says.

 

“I know,” Sam replies with a shrug. “Such a weird coincidence.”

 

“That’s not a coincidence,” Jane says firmly.

 

Sam gives her mom a skeptical look. “Well, then what?” She’s just waiting for her mom to say something terrible, like fate, or destiny, but she should know that Jane is smarter than that.

 

“I don’t know,” Jane says thoughtfully. “But something like that… _coincidence_ is just not a strong enough word.”

 

They’re quiet again, turning back to their tea, their book and their puzzle, but Sam looks up when she hears her mom sigh. “I bet he was a good father,” Jane says.

 

Sam nods. She feels quite sure that he was.

 

—

 

It’s a solid week before she stops sleeping all the time, and another couple of days until the nightmares subside enough that sleeping at night feels normal too, or at least tolerable, a new normal, she supposes. After two weeks, she starts feeling more confident about which memories, instincts, reactions, gut feelings, etc., are her own, and which were imported.

 

She ends up being under continuous supervision for ten days, which she suspects was a negotiated agreement between those who want to see her back in action as soon as possible and those who worry about what now lies buried in her subconscious. Sam worries about it too, more than she lets on, but mostly she’s focusing on keeping buried whatever’s buried.

 

The knowledge that a group such as the Tok’ra exists changes things, certainly. And if the SGC can find and build an alliance with these Tok’ra, so much the better. But Sam lays in bed at night, awake, imagining other ways they might have come across the Tok’ra, ways that didn’t involve her mind and body being hijacked.

 

Still, by the time three weeks have passed and she’s cleared to return to work, she feels ready. Sam has never been one to deal with a problem by hiding away from it, even if these days, hiding away involves three generations of Carter women making muffins together in their pajamas, or lying in the warm summer grass finding shapes in the clouds, or flying kites on a sunny July afternoon.

 

The plan is light duty on planet Earth for a week or two, then, if all goes well, some easy missions - check-ins with teams on long-term assignments on known stable planets, things like that. Then SG-1 will graduate to routine exploratory missions, and maybe, hopefully, eventually, they can get back to saving the planet as needed, which is what the flagship team is supposed to be responsible for doing. Sam is just grateful that Apophis is dead, that they were able to take care of that threat before she got taken by a Tok’ra and involuntarily decommissioned for almost a month.

 

On the morning Sam is scheduled to return to work, her whole team shows up at her house, looking tentatively excited. Sam feels it too, the anticipation that this long sought-after dream of being _herself_ again - whatever that means - is finally at hand with her return to work. They’d wanted to accompany her to the base, in a show of solidarity, or something, and once Jane caught wind of it, she insisted on feeding everyone breakfast.

 

Sam watches in awe as her mother greets Teal’c, then Daniel, then the Colonel with a warm hug each. She forgets how much time they’ve all spent here over the last three weeks, mostly without her. Even after her required supervision was over, they all stopped in occasionally, in addition to her daily house calls from Janet.

 

Everyone squeezes in at the small kitchen table, because it seems silly to use the dining room for breakfast, even if this breakfast is for six. Jane has made a quiche and sausage and hashbrowns and her famous homemade cinnamon rolls. There’s fruit and toast and an abundance of coffee. Amy is still in her pajamas, sleep in her eyes but a huge smile on her face as she sits in the Colonel’s lap, munching casually on what are undeniably the most amazing cinnamon rolls on the planet.

 

Sam looks around the table at her mom and her daughter, at the Colonel and Teal’c and Daniel. These people, they’re hers. She loves them and she cannot imagine her life without them. The Jolinar thing has put her through hell, but it’s also proven that, no matter what happens, with these people by her side, she can get through anything.

 

For the first time in what seems like a very long time, Sam feels incredibly lucky.

 

 


	13. The Gamekeeper, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: original character death in this chapter (NOT THE KID)
> 
> If you want to hear more about it before you start reading, feel free to get in touch with me over on tumblr (same username) or by email (username at gmail dot com). In fact if you want to skip this arc entirely (four chapters total, including this one), I can give you a rundown of what happens and let you know when it’s safe to tune back in. The death is permanent, this isn’t Daniel we’re talking about, but this is a major focus for the next couple chapters.
> 
> FYI, I plan to post the next three chapters after this one pretty quickly, like every other day (that's the goal at least), so you can have a sense of where the fic is going from here and hopefully feel good about things again. 
> 
> For what it’s worth, this character’s death is very canon-compliant, in its own way (not that that helps, I know).

“Well, that was… weird,” the Colonel says with a funny smile as they step through the gate at the SGC.

 

Sam smiles back at him in agreement. It was unquestionably weird, maybe even absurd, and in the end, oddly satisfying. SG-1 had been trapped in a simulated reality and made to relive the deaths of people they cared about - Daniel, his parents, and the Colonel, a friend and fellow soldier - because the Keeper on P7J-989 didn’t want everyone else to get bored, go outside, and mess up his garden, of all things. And that’s exactly what they’re doing right now, thanks to SG-1. Sam grins as she thinks about them, clad in their strange dark robes and stuck in stasis for a thousand years, now walking around outside on a beautiful sunny day, picking the Keeper’s precious flowers. She’s looks over at Daniel, he’s shaking his head with a small smile on his face. Even Teal’c seems amused.

 

For as nightmarishly as the mission began, now that it’s over, the whole thing is almost funny.

 

And Sam is glad it wrapped up as quickly as it did, though she could’ve done without that whole second round of messing with their heads, when the Keeper tried to make them think they were back at the SGC but it was still just a part of the simulation. Jane has been out of town for a week, on an annual trip to Florida with her two sisters, and she comes home today. Sam knows her mom and aunts always have a good time together, but she’s missed her mom, and she’s looking forward to getting home.

 

Jacob is also supposed to arrive in Colorado today, and the plan is for him to pick Jane up at the airport in Denver. Sam checks her watch - her mom’s flight was scheduled to arrive about three hours ago, and the Denver airport is a little over an hour away in normal, daytime traffic, so they should be home by now. Amy has been at Mark and Heather’s, and as much fun as she has hanging out with her cousins, Sam gets nervous about a shift in their routine, and she hates the feeling of imposing on her brother’s family. There’s talk of Mark and Heather and the boys coming over this weekend, but Sam isn’t sure how long her dad plans to stay in town.

 

As they descend the ramp, Sam turns away from her teammates and sees General Hammond waiting for them. Her smile drops a little. It’s not unheard of for him to greet them in the gate room, but it is unusual, especially for a mission like this, and the look on his face tells her that something is amiss. Apparently the Colonel senses it too; she feels him straighten next to her.

 

“General,” he greets him. “Nice to see you again, though this time of course I hope it really is you.”

 

General Hammond doesn’t react to the Colonel’s statement, but his eyes flick momentarily to Sam before he looks back at the Colonel. “SG-1, please report to the infirmary for your post-mission medical evaluations. Captain Carter, I would like to see you in my office as soon as you’re done.”

 

“Yes sir,” she replies automatically, glancing uneasily at her teammates and then back at the General. “Is something wrong?” It’s unusual for her to be singled out from her team like this, with no explanation. This is two unusual things now. Something is definitely wrong.

 

“We’ll discuss it in my office,” he says, and Sam’s mind immediately goes to Amy. “Colonel, a word?” the General says. With that, the rest of SG-1 is dismissed and files out of the gate room to the infirmary.

 

“Huh, I wonder what that was about,” Daniel muses as they walk away.

 

“Something’s wrong with Amy,” Sam says.

 

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” he replies. “He would’ve told you right away if that were the case.”

 

“No, first he would’ve sent me for my post-mission check-up to make sure I didn’t get snaked again, and then he would tell me.” She looks to Teal’c for reinforcement.

 

Teal’c considers her for a moment, as if torn between telling her the truth and telling her what will make her feel better, and then he decides on honesty, as he always does. “I agree with Captain Carter,” he says.

 

“Ok, but you didn’t have to _say_ that,” Daniel grouses.

 

“I did,” Teal’c confirms, sticking his chin out ever so slightly and turning away from Daniel.

 

Sam feels heartened by the normalcy of their banter, if not the substance of their words. As they enter the infirmary, she pushes down her growing sense of dread and takes a deep breath. Worrying about something never made it any better, and she doesn’t even know for sure what she’s supposed to be worrying about. She’ll know soon enough.

 

“Let’s get this over with,” she mutters, rolling up her sleeve as the nurse comes to draw blood.

 

—

 

She passes the Colonel just outside the infirmary, him on his way for his post-mission check-up, and Sam on her way to the General’s office. He spares her a nod as he passes, but not much more, which does nothing to calm her nerves. By now, despite her best intentions, she’s come up with a dozen things that might seriously have happened to Amy, and the fact that the Colonel will barely meet her eye has her fearing the worst.

 

She arrives at the General’s office and stands at attention, a little too stiffly. “General Hammond,” she says. “Captain Carter, reporting as requested, sir.”

 

“Thank you, Captain,” he says. “Have a seat.” He stands from his chair and closes the door behind her, then closes the door that opens onto the hallway and sits down again with a sigh, looking intently at his hands where they’re folded on his desk. Sam is sitting but she feels like she might spontaneously jump out of her chair at any second, her heart is beating wildly and she’s struggling to control her breathing. She wonders if this is what a panic attack feels like.

 

“What happened to Amy?” she blurts out.

 

The General looks up from his folded hands, and his eyes are first surprised, then apologetic. “Amy’s fine,” he assures her. “This isn’t about Amy.”

 

“Oh,” Sam says.

 

“This is about your mom.”

 

Sam’s heart drops into her stomach. Then she swallows and squints her eyes at him and says, “What about my mom?”

 

General Hammond holds her gaze and speaks slowly. “Sam,” he says, “there was an accident on the way home from the airport this afternoon. I deeply regret to inform you that your mother was killed on impact.”

 

“No,” she says, quietly, confused, her eyes still squinting, and then she says it again, though this time it’s more of a shout, “No!” She stands up abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. “My… what?” She stares at General Hammond, her Uncle George, longtime friend of the Carter family. “My dad?”

 

“Jacob is on his way now.”

 

“He’s ok?”

 

Hammond sighs again. “He was detained in Washington. He didn’t know how long he would be, so your mom took a cab from the airport. The driver was also killed on impact.” He goes on to explain how it happened, exactly, something about a construction zone on I25 and a distracted driver and no shoulder? But Sam isn’t really listening, she can’t quite hear him, there’s this terrible buzzing noise in her ears and nothing makes sense.

 

“No,” she says again. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “This isn’t… no.” Then she remembers, _of course!_ The Keeper! This is another one of his twisted simulations, a new level of cruelty. It _has_ to be.

 

“Sir,” she says, straightening up and trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “General, sir, I don’t think this is actually happening.” She literally just watched Daniel’s parents die a half a dozen times. Maybe it’s some really messed-up kink they have.

 

Hammond nods in understanding. “Colonel O’Neill informed me of the nature of your mission to P7J-989, and I can’t imagine how much more difficult it will be to absorb this news in the immediate aftermath of such an experience.”

 

She shakes her head. “Sir, with respect, I _need_ to see my team.” This _must_ be what’s going on, it’s the only way to explain it, because it’s not possible that her mom is gone, it’s not actually possible. She turns and looks out the window of General Hammond’s office to the briefing room, desperate for someone else to be out there and tell her something else, anything other than what the General has just told her.

 

There, leaning back against the long table with his arms crossed, is Colonel O’Neill, dressed in his civvies, his jaw set and his lips pressed in a thin line.

 

Sam pushes out of the General’s office and runs to the Colonel. “Sir!” she shouts. “Tell him! This isn’t what’s really happening!” Her eyes dart wildly around the room, looking for one of those mysterious exit curtains that might be hiding around any corner.

 

“Carter,” he says, drawing her gaze. He puts a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.”

 

“NO!” she shouts at him. Why isn’t anyone listening to her? “It’s another simulation, a virtual reality. We’re still on 989. We’ve got to get out of here!” She makes a move to go check around the corners for the curtain that will signal the end of her own nightmare. She would give just about anything to find one of those curtains right now.

 

But the Colonel’s grip on her arm tightens. “Sam,” he says. “They can’t even get in your head. He told us that. I’m sorry.”

 

Sam remembers the Keeper telling her that for herself and Teal’c, changes to their brain chemistry because of the Goa’uld they carried prevented him from putting them in their own simulations. At the time, Sam hadn’t been sure if she felt relieved or unnerved. She’s made great strides in putting the whole Jolinar thing behind her, and the prospect of permanent changes to her brain chemistry was not something she’d previously considered.

 

“He was lying,” Sam says plainly. It’s the only explanation. “It’s all part of the game, to get me to let my guard down.”

 

The Colonel is looking at her with sympathy, which she hates. She doesn’t want sympathy, she wants to take action. She wants her uniform and she wants her weapons and she wants one of those fucking exit curtains right now.

 

By this time, the General has joined them in the briefing room. Sam looks desperately between the two men. “What am I supposed to do?” she begs. “This can’t be!” She’s shaking her head, this can’t be real, can’t be happening, can’t be possible. She drops into a chair and closes her eyes as she feels the fight start to drain out of her. She is suddenly very, very tired.

 

General Hammond clears his throat. “Jacob’s transport should be arriving at Peterson any time now. Your mother had her driver’s license on her, but the State Police have asked him to identify the body, as a formality. Mark is already there. It was him I spoke to on the phone.”

 

Sam’s eyes are still closed. She hears words but her brain is struggling to make sense of them. She feels like her clothes weigh about five hundred pounds, she can’t hardly move.

 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then the Colonel speaks. “Come on,” he says. “I’m taking you home.”

 

With great effort, Sam lifts her hand, rubs her face and opens her eyes. “No,” she says. “I’m going with dad and Mark. I need to see the body.”

 

The Colonel nods sharply, like he’d expected her to say just that. “Ok,” he says. “Get dressed. We leave in five.” He of all people knows she doesn’t need long to get dressed, and just like he knows phrasing it like an order will help spur her into action, despite how difficult movement has become.

 

“I can drive myself,” she manages, standing up slowly.

 

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Captain,” he says. “I’ll see you in five.”

 

—

 

The body has been brought to a hospital morgue near the scene of the accident, closer to Denver than Colorado Springs but not too far. Jack sits in his truck in the parking lot with his elbow hanging out the open window, his eyes glued to the entrance of the hospital. People think of hospitals as a place someone goes to get better, or maybe not to get better, but people don’t usually realize how specifically hospitals are equipped to handle death. Even when the victim of a car crash dies on impact, they still bring the body here, to a hospital. It’s ironic in the cruelest sort of way. And Jack should know.

 

He’s not sure how long they’ll be, but he’s got nothing else to do today and he doesn’t mind sitting around waiting. He’s only met Carter’s brother once, at Amy’s birthday party, and he’s never met her father, but he figures if they’re at all like her, they won’t need long to dispatch with this duty. From what Hammond told him, this will likely be a closed-casket funeral anyway.

 

Sure enough, minutes later, three figures emerge from the side door of the hospital. There’s Mark Carter, who’s taller than the other two and who looks like he’s been crying or maybe yelling, an older man in full dress blues with stars on his shoulders wearing a blank expression, and Carter, Sam Carter, whose expression matches her father’s exactly. No wonder the non-military Carter was crying and yelling.

 

Carter approaches Jack’s truck at a brisk pace, her long legs eating up the pavement. He gets out and nods at her in greeting.

 

“Sir,” she says, her voice strong, her eyes focused. It seems this traumatic experience has reawakened the soldier in her, at least in the presence of her brother and father. Jack is not surprised that Carter would rather be a fighter than be the scared and confused woman who left the base with him an hour ago, but he wonders which version of herself is the most helpful right now. He can’t imagine how much energy it takes for her to maintain this in front of them.

 

“Carter.”

 

“I’m going to ride back into town with my dad,” she says, motioning stiffly toward her father. “Thanks for driving me out here. You can go now.” She says it like she’s dismissing him. He’s seen her bluff before, often, actually, more than people realize, and he wonders for a moment if he should just play along, if that’s what she needs him to do.

 

But Jack spins through the couple of things she’s ever said about her dad in his mind and decides to give her an option. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against his truck, aware of their audience on the other side of the parking lot. “If you want to sit in a car with your dad for the next 45 minutes, you’re free to do just that,” he says in a low voice. “But if you would like to _not_ sit in a car with your dad for the next 45 minutes, that’s also an option. I’ve got to drive back to Colorado Springs too. Your call.”

 

Her eyes break from his and dart down to the ground, then a little over to the side, and she takes a quick breath. “Amy’s at Mark’s, I have to go there first,” she says, her voice a little less steady this time, her mask breaking just a bit. “It doesn’t make sense for you to drive me.”

 

Jack shrugs. “I’m not doing anything else.”

 

She bites her lip, and her chin wobbles a little. She glances over at her father, who’s waiting by a sleek black car. He must have gotten a driver out of Peterson. He’s standing at the back door looking at her expectantly, some poor airman likely assigned to the unpleasant task of carting him around this evening.

 

“He’ll be upset,” she says in an almost-whisper, looking down at her feet.

 

Jack doesn’t doubt that Jacob Carter is upset, but he doesn’t think Sam Carter is the reason why. More than that, he’s not all that invested in the elder Carter’s feelings right now, though it’s becoming increasingly clear to him what his Carter wants to do.

 

“I’ll let you pick the radio station,” he says softly. He thinks this might make her smile maybe just a tiny little bit, it’s a joke but also not a joke, he’s not very tolerant of other peoples’ taste in music and she knows it.

 

But instead, her eyes flutter closed and a tear slips out. She purses her lips together and nods, then walks around to the passenger side of the truck and waves off her dad before climbing in. If Jacob is upset, he doesn’t show it, he just folds himself into his car and slams the door shut. Mark’s car and then Jacob’s file out of the parking lot, and only when they’re gone does Carter release a big sigh, slumping against the window.

 

“He’s going to think we’re sleeping together,” she says.

 

“Wow,” Jack says, raising an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic bluntness. “That’s kind of a leap, don’t you think?”

 

“He always assumes the worst of people.”

 

“Even you?”

 

“Especially me.”

 

Jack turns the key to start the ignition and pulls out onto the main road that will take them back to I25, back to the Springs, back home. Before they even make it to the highway, he looks over and sees that she’s fallen asleep, her head leaned against the window, lolling gently with the movement of the car.

 

Jack can’t imagine a father being anything less than obnoxiously proud at having a daughter like Samantha Carter. Even if you don’t know about the whole saving-the-world thing, which General Carter unfortunately doesn’t, there’s still the insanely-impressive-academic-and-military-career-before-even-turning-thirty thing, of which he should be well aware.

 

It occurs to Jack as he drives on that General Carter’s supposed displeasure with his daughter might have more to do with her personal life, the whole getting-pregnant-and-being-a-single-mom thing. Jack scowls to himself. If that’s the case, the guy’s even more off his rocker, because the fact that Carter manages to be so impressive in her professional life while also raising a daughter just makes her all the more amazing.

 

Amy. Jack wonders what anyone has told her about her grandmother. A loss like this can be so hard for kids to grasp, let alone deal with. It’s hard for adults to grasp. He spares a glance for his 2IC, still slumped sideways in her seat as they zip down the highway.

 

Crap. Amy.

 

Jack remembers in a flash that Jane was Amy’s designated care provider in Carter’s Family Care Plan, the official, legally binding document that any branch of the military requires single parents to have in place. After learning about Amy from her psycho dad on P3X-513, Jack had gone back and re-read Carter’s entire file thoroughly, this time not skipping anything, not because he thought she was holding more back, but because he really, really doesn’t like surprises. And there was all the paperwork, neatly organized, executed by General Hammond himself, and signed by one Jane Carter.

 

At the time, Jack had thought to himself how lucky Carter was to have her mom close by, willing and able to take care of a baby at a moment’s notice. The military sets forth pretty specific criteria for care providers - they have to be local, they have to be non-military, they have to be physically and financially able to care for a child - and it’s sometimes quite difficult for single parents to find someone who fits the bill.

 

And now Carter doesn’t have that option anymore.

 

Jack seriously hopes that she hasn’t realized this yet, that on top of processing the shock and pain of losing her mother so abruptly, she isn’t also contemplating the end of her career, the end of gate travel. She’ll be removed from active duty if she can’t find someone else who will agree to be responsible for her daughter. He knows she’s struggled with her decision to serve on a front-line team, and now that Jane is gone, the choice will be even harder. Or maybe it will be even easier, because maybe she won’t even get a choice. Jack grimaces at the thought.

 

They ride in silence for 45 minutes, and Jack hopes it’s enough to give her what she needs to get through the rest of the evening and get herself home with her daughter, home and in bed. He’s tempted to drive around a little, to give her 50 minutes or maybe even a full hour of a nap. He’s mostly sure she was exaggerating when she said her dad would think they were sleeping together, but it doesn’t seem worth the risk to leave any time unaccounted for. And anyway, he’d caught up to the other Carters’ cars on the highway and it was easy enough to just follow them all the way back.

 

When they turn onto a quiet, residential street, Jack reaches over and puts a hand on her knee to wake her. Even if she did sleep the whole drive, she probably doesn’t want to look it. She startles at first, then takes in her surroundings and slumps back into her seat. “Hey,” he says. “Up and at ‘em, Captain.”

 

“Yes, sir.” She nods, runs a hand over her face, runs her fingers through her hair, yawns. He passes her a bottle of water that he’s already had half of, she drinks the rest of it and rubs her face again. She looks awake, awake enough.

 

Dusk is gathering. The two cars in front of him pull into a driveway so Jack pulls in too. It’s a nice-looking family house, nondescript, but friendly. It reminds him a little of the house he shared with Sara, he thinks, with Sara and Charlie. It’s a nice family house. His heart clenches as he imagines a plastic basketball hoop in the driveway, a bike lying on its side, a baseball, a glove.

 

It’s funny how grief can be so contagious, even when you don’t share the same loss.

 

Shaking himself, he sees Jacob and Mark walking toward the front door. A short woman with brown hair and a red sweater opens the door, and Jack recognizes her from Amy’s birthday party as Heather, Mark’s wife.

 

“You sure you don’t want me to stick around and give you a ride back to your place?” he asks. “You could say Amy’s tired,” he suggests. She’d never admit that she’s tired, of course. “I could drive you both straight home. Might be a good idea.” He’s not entirely sure why he’s so keen on sticking close to her. Maybe it’s just a protective instinct that’s been honed over the last year and change of being in the field together. Or maybe it’s because of the whole Jolinar thing. Or maybe the fact that she actually slept the whole drive back to Colorado Springs kind of freaked him out.

 

She looks at him with sad blue eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she says. “That really does sound nice. I wish I could.”

 

“Yeah,” he says, turning back to the steering wheel. “I know.” Her place is here, with her family, where for better or worse, they’ll start sorting this out together, or at least sorting out the logistics. There are a lot of logistics to deal with when someone dies. But he doesn’t doubt for a second that she wishes she could just get in a car and drive away. He knows he’d wish that for himself. He knows he did.

 

At the front door, Amy’s blond head peeks out under Heather’s arm. “I have to go,” Sam says biting her lip against the tears that have started to gather in her eyes at the sight of her daughter. “Thanks again, sir.” She pushes herself out of Jack’s truck and meets her daughter on the front walkway, dropping to her knees and taking the little girl into her arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been super nervous/anxious to get past this chapter ever since I first started publishing this fic and got such a positive reaction to the character of Jane Carter. I know many of you have also expressed that you’re looking forward to seeing Jacob soon, and I’m sure this isn’t what you were expecting. I tried to drop a couple hints in recent chapters so you wouldn’t feel blindsided, but I don’t know if I was very successful. I hope you don't hate me and I hope you’ll all keep reading - there’s good stuff ahead, LOTS of good stuff, I promise!


	14. The Gamekeeper, Part 2

Jane Carter died on a Wednesday. Her funeral is on Saturday. It’s brief and well-attended, at times touching, at times heartbreaking. Everyone looks kind of shocked, and none more so than the rest of the Carter family.

 

After the service, there’s a lengthy receiving line of sorts that stretches on for over an hour. Jack watches as General Hammond hugs Carter and then her brother and then her father. Hammond’s daughter is here too with her husband and two daughters, they all embrace the Carters as well. Apparently the Hammonds and the Carters are much better acquainted than either Hammond or Carter ever let on.

 

Jack is glad he opted against his dress blues, as the only other military people here are in civilian clothes as well. He stands in his black suit near the back of the line, next to Teal’c, who’s smartly dressed in all black, and Daniel, in one of his nicer dark grey suits and a plain blue tie.

 

Jack hasn’t been to a non-military funeral since… well, it’s been a couple years.

 

Amy is in a purple dress with a sort of ruffly skirt on it. She’s with Janet and Cassie, not far from the reception area, and she’s clearly bored. She keeps trying to twirl, to enjoy her twirly skirt, and Janet keeps gently grabbing her arm and looking around nervously. Two years old is not old enough to understand why twirling isn’t really the thing to do right now.

 

They finally make it to the front of the line. Jack shakes Mark’s hand. He’s had a solid hour to prepare for this moment, but everything he can think to say right now sounds impossibly trite. So he just grips Mark’s hand, clasps him on the shoulder with his other hand and nods. He feels quite confident that Daniel, just behind him in line, will more than make up for his lack of words.

 

General Jacob Carter is next, standing between his two children, and even without his uniform, he projects enough power and authority to make a lesser airman shake in his boots. “Colonel Jack O’Neill, sir,” Jack says as sincerely as he can. It helps immensely to be able to fall back on military protocol in situations like this.

 

Jacob looks him up and down and then meets his eye but doesn’t shake his hand. “I remember you,” he says. “The guy from the parking lot.”

 

Jack blinks at him. Maybe trying to make other people squirm is helping Jacob cope right now, Jack thinks. Jack isn’t going to hold it against him. He knows how it is. “My condolences on your loss,” Jack says dutifully. “Your wife was a remarkable woman.”

 

Jacob tilts his head just a little bit an narrows his eyes. “Got to know her pretty well, did you?”

 

Wow, apparently Carter was right. It seems Jacob really  _does_ think they’re sleeping together.

 

But before he has to formulate a response, he hears his second-in-command sigh in exasperation. “Dad, please,” she says, sounding every bit as weary as he would expect. “This is my team. Of course they knew mom.” Daniel and Teal’c now step up next to Jack, flanking him, and he feels a wave of gratitude for the back-up. “Colonel O’Neill, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and Teal’c.”

 

“That’s right, your team,” he says. “Your radar analysis team.”

 

Carter blinks rapidly and looks up at the ceiling. “Can we please not do this right now?” she says in a small voice.

 

Jack gets it, he really does. When people are overwhelmed by a grief so incomprehensible that it threatens their very understanding of reality, they can be real assholes. But he hates to see Carter, his Carter, on the receiving end of any of that, especially now.

 

Luckily, Daniel decides at this moment to make a move, he steps forward and pulls Sam into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” he says, holding on tight. Jack wishes he could hug her too - it’s a thing people do at funerals, after all - but right now he wouldn’t dare, not in front of her father, not after he just referred to Jack as “the guy from the parking lot.”

 

Teal’c steps in then and clasps Jacob’s arm, like the Jaffa do. Jacob looks momentarily surprised at this gesture, and doesn’t have any sharp reply for Teal’c when he says, in that deep voice of his, “Jane Carter was indeed remarkable. It was my honor to have known her this short time.”

 

“Thank you guys for coming,” Carter says, addressing all three of them. Her eyes look tired and red, like she’s been crying all day, or perhaps all day every day since Wednesday.

 

“Of course we came,” Daniel says. “We would’ve have missed it.”

 

“I found the service to be quite moving,” Teal’c adds.

 

She looks at Jack and he flounders for a moment. Daniel and Teal’c totally pulled off the polite, cliché things people are supposed to say at funerals, but for the life of him, all Jack can think to say right now is something along the lines of _god, you must really feel like shit_.

 

After a second, he clears his throat. “We’re going to go do a perimeter check,” he says quietly. Her eyes flash with surprise and then something else - interest, maybe? - just for a second. Mark and Jacob have by now moved on to the next guests in line, so Jack knows he’s safe. “We’ll let you know if the local cuisine is worth a gander.” He nods in the direction of a table of sandwiches and cookies over by the door and gives her his best suspicious grimace. She smiles ever so slightly. He meets her gaze and gives her arm a quick squeeze and says, softly and as sincerely as he can, “We’ve got your six, ok?”

 

She nods and blinks rapidly again. “Thank you, sir,” she says, so quietly it might not have even been out loud.

 

—

 

Sam hates being at the house now, _the_ house, her mom’s house, without her mom there. If she’s somewhere else - at Mark and Heather’s house, at the grocery store, in her car - it’s easier to pretend, in the back of her mind somewhere, even subconsciously, even just for one blissful second, that maybe her mom isn’t dead. When she’s at the house though, there’s no pretending, there’s just hard, cold reality.

 

But it doesn’t make sense to stay with Mark and Heather overnight, and Sam isn’t going to indulge something as frivolous as unease, certainly not with her dad in town.

 

It doesn’t help that Amy has no idea how to conceptualize this. Jane had been out of town, so Amy is not completely thrown by her absence, but she keeps asking when Nana will be home. On Wednesday, after they got back from the hospital, Sam, Mark, Heather and Jacob all sat down with the three kids and explained to them what had happened. They were confused, and concerned, and sad. Sam was overwhelmingly grateful at the time that she didn’t have to talk to Amy about this alone, but she’s learning quickly that for a two-year-old, this is not a one-time conversation. It’s a conversation they’ve been having every day, multiple times a day. And every time, it breaks Sam’s heart all over again.

 

So maybe that’s why she finds herself downstairs in the kitchen at 11:00 pm the night after the funeral. She’s decided that if she can’t sleep anyway, she might as well have some coffee and try clear her head, but she’s staring at the coffee maker, and her hands just won’t do whatever it is they usually automatically do to make the damn thing work.

 

Sam is usually up first in the mornings, and she usually makes coffee for herself and her mom. She usually _made_ coffee for herself and her mom. Past tense. So now she’s contemplating just a single cup, and it’s too hard. She’s done it before, of course, hundreds of times. Her mom never drank coffee at night anyway. But her brain can’t get past the idea that every cup of coffee she makes in this coffee maker from now on will be just for herself.

 

“I think pressing the button works better than staring at it,” a gruff voice behind her says.

 

Sam spins around, startled. “Dad.” He looks like hell. His eyes are red and his face is drawn and his shoulders are slumped. He looks thinner, even, though Sam’s not sure how that could’ve happened in just four days. “Can I make you some?”

 

“Nah,” he says. He reaches on top of the fridge and pulls out a bottle of scotch that Sam didn’t even know was there. “You want some of this?”

 

Sam spares one more glance for the coffee maker before deciding that alcohol sounds better anyway. She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sits down at the kitchen table with her dad. He pours them each a measure, throws his back and then pours himself another. Sam does the same, pushing her glass back across the table for a refill.

 

“This how it’s going to be now?” Jacob asks, after several quiet minutes. “Sitting around getting drunk, feeling sorry for ourselves?”

 

Sam closes her eyes against the sting of tears. “It’s only been a couple days,” she says.

 

Jacob seems to deflate a little. If he was trying to pick another fight with her tonight, he’s not going to get it. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Jesus, at least you’re talking to me. Though I guess your brother’s made it pretty clear how it feels.”

 

Sam nods. “He blames you,” she says, though it doesn’t really need saying. Mark blames Jacob - and by extension, the Air Force - for the accident, saying that if Jacob had been there to pick Jane up at the airport, like he’d planned, this never would’ve happened.

 

As much as Sam doesn’t agree with Mark’s assessment, she recognizes his need to place blame right now. Unfortunately, Mark’s need to place blame is in direct conflict with Jacob’s need to provoke everyone to a fight. It started at that hospital on Wednesday evening, and it’s been worse every day.

 

Jacob snorts into his glass. “I blame myself.”

 

Sam wonders how long it will take for this animosity between them to fade. Her dad and her brother have never been close, have never really seen eye-to-eye, but this is something new, and she can’t help but think that it would break her mom’s heart. She wonders when they will all start to feel normal again. She wonders what normal will feel like, in a world without her mom. She doesn’t really think it’s possible.

 

“What are you going to do about work?” Jacob asks after a while, breaking her downwardly spiraling thoughts. And it actually sounds like a genuine question, not a challenge, like everything else he’s said these last few days.

 

Sam sighs. “I have no idea.”

 

It had taken her until late Wednesday night, lying in bed, wide awake, to realize what Jane’s death means for her own life on SG-1. It’s one thing to zip around the galaxy knowing that Amy is being well-cared for and loved at home, but with Jane gone, well, the Air Force might not even _let_ her zip across the galaxy anymore. The choice might not even be hers.

 

But then sometime between the accident on Wednesday and the funeral today, Heather had pulled Sam aside. Sam honestly has no idea what day it was that they talked, or how she got from one day to the next at all, really. _I want you to know that I could be an option for taking care of Amy,_ Heather had said. _Kyle is in kindergarten now. I’ve got the time. Amy gets along well with her cousins._ Sam is really not sure what she’d said back. She’d probably cried. _Your mom always knew your work was important,_ Heather had told her. _Whatever it is you do. She wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to give it all up._

 

Sam had asked her then what Mark thought about it, and Heather had simply said that she can handle Mark.

 

Sam feels guilty even thinking about her job right now, but she also knows that one way or another, she’s going to have to work. Whether she stays on SG-1 or requests reassignment to the science department or something, she’s going to need childcare for Amy. She’s immensely grateful to Heather for thinking of her, and for taking it upon herself to offer. It seems like the kind of thing that’s too much to ask, way too much, and Sam is relieved that she didn’t have to.

 

“How did you do it, all these years?” she asks quietly. “The Air Force. Leaving us behind.”

 

“I had your mom,” Jacob says with a shrug. Sam sighs again. She used to have her mom too, and that used to make it ok, even when it wasn’t easy.

 

“But if you hadn’t… I mean, how did you know… “ Sam pauses to collect her disorganized thoughts. “How did you know it was the right thing to do?”

 

Jacob scowls. “Who says I ever knew what was right? All these years…”

 

He falls quiet, and Sam shifts in her chair a little bit. She’s not going to placate him, not now, she doesn’t think that would be helpful and she knows she couldn’t pull it off with sincerity. But she does want to _talk_ to him. Of all people, he should be someone she can talk to. “I need to give George a decision soon.” She remembers a similar conversation with her mom just over a year ago, a conversation in the daylight over grilled cheese and yogurt, similar but also very, very different.

 

Jacob grips his glass and takes another sip of his scotch, and Sam wonders if her pushing has angered him, has ruined this precious moment between them where he’s just a father and she’s just a daughter asking for his advice.

 

But then he speaks. “Let me ask you this,” he says. “Is the job done?”

 

Sam furrows her brow in confusion. “Is the job ever done?”

 

Jacob thinks again for a moment and then says, “Look, Sam, I don’t know what the hell you’re up to at Cheyenne Mountain, but what did you set out to do? Have you done it? And if you - you personally - if you walked away right now, would it all hold together? Or would it all fall apart, and end up worse than it was before you even got involved?”

 

Sam’s eyes widen in surprise at how exactly his questions hit home for her. But he either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He finishes his drink and rises, placing his cup in the sink, like someone’s going to come along after him and move it into the dishwasher where it can actually be washed.

 

“I’m going to turn in,” he says. “I’m sorry I’m… I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the ass.” He shakes his head and trudges away to the stairs, leaving Sam’s mind spinning with this new approach to the question that has been tearing at her ever since her life got turned upside down four days ago.

 

Maybe it’s the urgency of the question, maybe it’s the two drinks she just downed, but before she knows it, she’s pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and dialing the Colonel’s number. She’s hit the talk button before she realizes what time it is - getting close to midnight now - but he answers on the second ring and doesn’t sound at all like he was asleep.

 

“Sir, it’s me,” she says. She probably should’ve waited until morning for this call.

 

“Carter,” he replies, as casually as ever. “What’s going on?”

 

“Is the job done?” she asks.

 

“What?”

 

She grimaces, and finds herself wishing quite fervently that they could be having this conversation in person. She’s been conditioned over the last year to trust him, to feel safe in his presence, and she wants that now. She remembers the safe haven he provided her at the hospital that awful day, how relieved she’d been to let him drive her home. She thinks about the concern in his eyes, and the softness of his voice when he’s not trying to come across as an irreverent smart ass.

 

“Carter?” he prompts, when she’s been quiet for too long.

 

“I’m trying to decide what to do about work,” she blurts out. “About SG-1.”

 

“Ah,” he says. She imagines him pressing his lips into a thin line as he nods. Maybe he’d cross his arms and lean back against some piece of furniture, a table or a counter or something, as if settling in for the conversation. Maybe he’s been waiting for her to want to talk about this.

 

“We killed Apophis,” she continues before she loses her nerve. “Is that what we set out to do?”

 

“Carter, if you’re asking me whether you’ve done your time, played your part, the answer is an unequivocal yes. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

 

“What I’m asking is whether it’s irresponsible for me to continue going through the gate, to risk things like what happened in Antarctica, when the threat we set out to neutralize has been neutralized,” she says. She only realizes now, as she says this out loud, that that’s what she wants, to keep going through the gate, to explore and discover new worlds, to push and stretch and rewrite the laws of physics, to abide in that space where awe and fear, certainty and mystery, adventure and purpose and passion come together.

 

“Ok,” he says. She can practically see him shifting as their conversation takes a new direction - she’s not trying to justify leaving SG-1, she’s trying to justify staying.

 

“Mark and Heather are taking the cat,” she says. She feels quite sure that makes no sense to him, so she tries to explain. “With work, I’m just not home reliably enough to take care of it. A cat. And then there’s Amy. I can’t even be counted on to take care of a cat, but I have a daughter.”

 

“Ok,” he says again. “But you’ve got someone to take care of Amy, and you feel good about it.” It’s not even a question, he knows they wouldn’t be having this conversation if that weren’t the case.

 

“Yeah,” she says simply. She does feel good about it. Heather’s become a good friend over the last year, in addition to being family, in addition to being a great mom, in addition to already caring about Amy. It won’t be the same for Amy as staying home with her Nana, but it would be good. Really good, even.

 

“I just don’t want to look back, years and years from now, and wonder if it was all worth it, if I made the right decision, leaving Amy with someone else and risking my life every day…” she trails off and thinks about her dad, looking so old and so tired, picking fights with anyone who looks at him and sleeping alone under a blue floral quilt tonight. She realizes suddenly that he never answered her question earlier, about knowing whether he did the right thing, leaving Jane to raise his family while he went off to fight wars he couldn’t even talk to them about.

 

“Would it help not to think of it in terms of years from now?” the Colonel says.

 

“What do you mean?” she asks.

 

“Well, what if you made a decision one way or another, and also decided right now that you’re going to check in on it after a certain amount of time, like a year, or a month, or six months, or something. Then when that time rolls around, we take a step back, think about how it’s going, if you’re meeting your goals for your work life and your family life, if we need to make any changes, stuff like that. That way, you’re not deciding forever. It takes a little bit of the pressure off.”

 

Sam feels herself nodding at this. She likes this approach. It tugs at her heart that he’s taking such an interest in her, in helping her be who she wants to be at work and at home, but then she shakes her head to snap herself out of it. It’s nothing personal, she tells herself, it’s just part of the job of a good commanding officer, and he is a good commanding officer. All this grief is making her way too emotional.

 

She realizes then that he can’t see her nodding. “I’d like that,” she says. It was only two drinks, but she hasn’t had much to eat today either.

 

“And I can promise you this, that spot on SG-1 is always yours. If you decide now that you want off the team and then you change your mind, I will happily get rid of whoever they send me to replace you.”

 

She chuckles softly at this. They’ve come a long way in a year, she thinks. “Thank you, sir,” she says.

 

“Just doing my job,” he says. “At midnight. On a Saturday.”

 

Sam cringes and rubs her forehead with her hand. “Sorry about that.”

 

“Hey,” he says. “No problem. Really.”

 

“Ok,” she says.

 

“We’ll talk soon, ok, Carter?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says back to him, and she hangs up the phone.

 

 


	15. Need, Part 1

Sam picks SG-1, at least for the next six months.

 

She talks to Heather, and then she and Heather talk to Mark, and then she and Heather and Mark get together with General George Hammond, who does a good job of being both George and General Hammond, family friend and base commander. They don’t bother with the cover story, which would be more insulting than helpful. Hammond simply says that the work is classified at the highest levels, profoundly important, and often quite unpredictable.

 

Mark seems somewhat put out, in the way that Mark often does, but he doesn’t protest too much. Heather seems genuinely excited, and Hammond seems tentatively relieved. He goes through all the paperwork for Mark and Heather to become Amy’s designated care providers in Sam’s Family Care Plan, explaining their responsibilities and rights with regards to the Air Force. He further invites them to contact him directly with any concerns or questions they have along the way, and promises to inform his staff that they are always to be put straight through to him.

 

At his discretion, General Hammond has given Sam three weeks of bereavement leave, of which almost two have already passed in a blur. He has informed her he would be able to extend the time if she needs, which is his way of telling her not to come back early, really. He’s set the minimum, and that’s the part that’s not negotiable.

 

On the one hand, Sam knows she needs the time, especially with Amy transitioning to a very new child care arrangement. And she also knows that three weeks is very, very generous.

 

But on the other hand, the idea that any allotment of time could encompass the grief she feels such that she would be able to process it and get it out of her system seems so absurd that she’d almost rather take no time at all.

 

And she does feel the pull of work. She longs to immerse herself something urgent that only she can handle, something literally alien, literally light years away from the house where her mom no longer lives, from Amy’s grief, from her own. She was just getting her feet back under her after Jolinar. She thinks about her dad, and is not at all surprised that he’s buried himself back in his own work, assuming that’s where he’s run off to. She hasn’t really seen him since that night after the funeral. If it weren’t for Amy, if it weren’t for Hammond, she’d probably be doing the same.

 

Sam sighs as she folds the laundry on the floor in the playroom. Amy is not far away, lying on the floor quietly finger painting. Normally, Sam doesn’t let finger paints coexist with clean laundry like this, even if the paint is washable. But she’s loathe to deny Amy anything right now. The little girl continues to ask about Nana, if she’s still in Florida, and when she’s coming home. Sam explains, every time, that Nana isn’t coming home, and every time, Amy looks at her with those big blue eyes and says, “but when?"

 

And then there are the tantrums. Amy threw the occasional tantrum before, like any toddler does, but they’ve been more frequent these last two weeks since Jane died, and more intense. She threw a tantrum last week when Sam tried to brush her hair. She threw another tantrum when she didn’t want to eat breakfast. The other day, Amy laid face-down on the floor in the dairy section of the grocery store because Sam was buying milk and Amy didn’t want her to. It’s never the same thing that sets her off, but once every couple of days, it’s something. Sam doesn’t exactly blame her, but she does feel increasingly at a loss for how to deal with it.

 

Sam sets a neat stack of folded 2T shirts back in the laundry basket and sighs again. What she needs right now is her mom’s advice, and that’s exactly what she can’t have.

 

This second sigh apparently catches Amy’s attention, because she looks up from her work with concern on her small face. “Do you like my painting, mama?” she asks. Her voice is so light and so sweet that Sam’s heart clenches again, to think of a girl so small with such a sweet voice having already lost someone she loved so much.

 

“I love it, sweetie,” Sam says. “There’s so much yellow. It’s beautiful."

 

Amy considers her painting. “It’s for Nana,” she says with a soft smile, pride evident on her face.

 

Sam swallows hard and nods. “We’ll hang it on the fridge,” she says. “Nana would have loved it.” She knows the nuance of language is lost on her daughter but she also doesn’t think it would help right now to point out, once again, that Nana is not coming home, that she will not ever see this cheery yellow finger painting.

 

Sam abandons the laundry and goes to Amy, hugging her closely and kissing her soft, soft hair as she fights back tears. She really doesn’t need to cry again today.

 

Just then the phone rings. Sam gives Amy one more squeeze for good measure and then walks to the counter, reaching across it to grab the phone.

 

“Hello?” she says.

 

“Carter,” a familiar voice greets her.

 

“Sir,” she says, feeling an unexpected wave of something almost like nostalgia at the normalcy of this exchange.

 

Amy perks up. “It’s Jack?” She walks over to her mother and peeks up at the phone.

 

“Amy says hi,” Sam says, smiling down at her daughter. “How’s Daniel?” SG-1 had been operating at a reduced capacity in her absence, taking only standard recon missions that should be easy, though somehow they almost never are. Their first mission without her, to P3R-636, ended up being unexpectedly lengthy when Daniel saved a local princess from herself and got addicted to the sarcophagus, something they didn’t even know was possible, and the Colonel and Teal’c were nearly worked to death in the mine. They did bring back a shiny new mineral for her, something called naquadah, which the Colonel has promised her she can play with when she returns. But by all accounts, it sounds like a great mission to have missed.

 

The Colonel has been checking in regularly since they returned. Sam suspects he’s using status updates on Daniel’s detox as an excuse for him to assess how she’s faring. She doesn’t mind.

 

Today, he reports that Daniel has finally been sprung from the infirmary. “Since Daniel’s back to his normal self, ‘normal’ being a relative term of course, I was thinking maybe a team night?” he says. It’s a statement but he says it like a question, and she’s not sure if it’s an invitation or what.

 

“Oh,” she says.

 

“And even if you’re on leave, you’re still part of the team,” he says. “So, what do you say?"

 

Sam looks down at Amy. She’s desperate for some adult companionship, for something resembling her life _before_ , and Amy loves going to the Colonel's house. But Sam feels so tired, and the thought of packing up her two-year-old into her car and hauling herself and her daughter anywhere, even somewhere friendly and safe and easy, feels like just too much. And by the time they get home, it will be past bed time, and Amy will probably doze off in the car, and Sam will have to wake her to get her out of the car and into bed, and then of course it will take her forever to actually go to sleep after that...

 

As if he can hear her internal debate, the Colonel jumps in. “And actually,” he says, “I thought maybe we could take the party to you. If you want."

 

“Oh,” she says again.

 

“I mean, it’s going to be take-out either way. It could be take-out here, and you guys could come over, or it could be take out at your place. Might be easier for Amy."

 

it would be much easy for Amy, and for herself too. Sam is grateful that he didn’t say that latter part out loud, even if he is undoubtedly thinking it. 

 

“That sounds great,” she says. Really great, actually. She smiles down at Amy. “Jack is coming over,” she whispers to her daughter. “And Daniel and Teal’c too."

 

Amy’s eyes sparkle and she jumps up and down a little in excitement. “Jack! And Daniel and Teal’c! I’m going to make more pictures for them!” With a new sense of purpose, she returns to her finger paints.

 

“We’ll be there in an hour,” the Colonel says. “We’ll bring all the food, and paper plates and everything. You need anything, by the way? Paper towels? Bananas? Fruit loops?"

 

“Fruit loops?” she chuckles into the phone.

 

“It’s a legitimate breakfast choice for a discerning child,” he says, “or adult."

 

“I’m sure it is, sir,” she says. “But we’re all set. Thanks."

 

“Ok,” he says. “See you in an hour. And don’t insult us by cleaning up or anything on our account, ok?"

 

“Ok,” she agrees.

 

“That’s an order, Captain,” he says jokingly, though she suspects he’s working hard to play this right, to find a balance between making this easy for her and imposing.

 

“Don’t worry about it, sir,” she says. “I might even have a list of chores for you guys to do when you get here."

 

“Hm,” the Colonel says. “I’ll tell Teal’c to bring his apron."

 

An hour later the doorbell rings and there they are, Teal’c and Daniel and the Colonel, holding up take-out bags full of delicious-smelling Italian food and grocery bags full of soda, beer, milk, juice, a smattering of fruits and veggies, and Oreos. Amy squeals happily and runs to hug the Colonel, who lifts her up so she can also hug Teal’c and Daniel in turn. He’s still carrying her as they all move to the kitchen where he pours their drinks and dishes up their plates with one hand.

 

The food is great, the company is even better. Sam can tell by the way the Colonel keeps stealing glances at Daniel, the way he stands a little closer to him than he normally would, that it must have been bad. She can’t help but wonder if things would’ve been different if she’d been there for her teammates, if maybe she could’ve done something to spare them this. Still, she finds herself immensely enjoying the sound of their three voices intermingling, the tone and cadence of each individual voice so familiar and the harmonies they weave back and forth more comforting than she had thought possible, even against the backdrop of their ordeal on 636.

 

Amy seems to be in heaven too. She made a great show during dinner of distributing the pictures she’d painted earlier, and now she’s sitting on the Colonel’s lap on the couch in the living room, eating her second Oreo of the evening and fighting back yawns. She hasn’t mentioned Nana in hours. Sam glances at the clock. It’s about 20 minutes past bedtime.

 

“Ok big girl,” she says, standing up and bracing herself. "It’s time to get those teeth brushed and head to bed."

 

Amy’s smile fades into a scowl. “No,” she says.

 

“Come on,” Sam says, reaching for her hand.

 

Amy pulls away and grabs onto the Colonel, who suddenly looks guilty. “I’m not sleepy,” she says.

 

“Sweetie, you’ve been rubbing your eyes for a while now. I know you’re sleepy,” she reasons. “And it’s bedtime.”

 

“NO!” Amy shouts, and she slinks off the Colonel’s lap onto the floor, lying face down. Sam has gotten to know this pose all too well in the last couple weeks. It looks so benign, serene, even, but it is a portend of terrible things to come.

 

“Please, Amy, don’t do this.” Sam can feel her teammates shifting uncomfortably and trying to look away as she kneels down on the floor and places a hand on Amy’s back. Amy doesn’t move. “You can wear your dinosaur jammies if you want."

 

“I don’t want dinosaur jammies!” Amy shouts into the floor.

 

“Let’s just brush your teeth first, and we’ll go from there, ok?” Sam leans forward and tries to lift Amy up; she knows from experience that this won’t work, but mindful of her audience, she feels compelled to try. 

 

As she suspected, trying to pick Amy up is worse than useless, because this has apparently crossed some sort of line in Amy’s mind, and she begins to scream. Sam looks on, helpless, and the Colonel stands up abruptly. “Ok boys,” he says. “KP."

 

Sam shoots him a look that’s one part gratitude and four parts mortification. He nods briskly and walks to the kitchen with Daniel and Teal’c in tow.

 

Amy has not stopped her screaming, and Sam is starting to decipher what she’s saying, she’s sort of chanting “I won’t brush my teeth,” but with a vehemence and a rage that make the words almost unrecognizable. It frightens Sam that her daughter is capable of such powerful emotions, it frightens her even more to be so powerless against them. She wants nothing more than to soothe Amy’s anger, but she has no idea how.

 

So she scoops Amy up in her arms, which only makes Amy start to kick now, and carries her up the stairs. She’s sure the guys can still hear all of this, especially as Amy’s feet make contact with the wall along their way. Once upstairs, Sam tries repeatedly and fails to brush Amy’s teeth, wrestles her into some pajamas, and then holds her as she sobs herself to sleep. 

 

It’s been just over an hour since she first mentioned bedtime, and Sam is finally descending the stairs, feeling physically and emotionally spent. She hopes to god that her teammates have shown themselves out so she can curl up on her couch and cry in peace.

 

But when she gets to the living room, there’s the Colonel, sitting on the couch with two unopened beers on the coffee table in front of him. He tips his head toward the beers and raises his eyebrows in question, she deliberates for all of about a half a second before nodding and collapsing on the couch next to him. He pops the caps off the beers and hands her one and together, they drink. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, starting to feel the alcohol hum softly through her system as her headache subsides. It’s surprisingly comforting to know there’s someone sitting next to her, Sam realizes, and even better that she doesn’t have to actually talk to him.

 

When her beer is almost empty, the Colonel stands and walks to the kitchen, returning a minute later with another beer and a glass of water. She accepts the water and drinks half of it before taking a sip of the next beer. He sits back down next to her.

 

She feels a sudden urge to talk about how she’s feeling, to tell him how unreal this still is to her, weeks later, how she’s still looking for that curtain indicating a secret door where she can exit this nightmare of a simulation and step back through the gate to a world where her mother is alive and well. But instead, she leans forward with her forearms on her knees and says, “I’m sorry about Amy.” It’s the first words either one of them has spoken in the twenty minutes since she came downstairs.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Colonel shake his head. “You don’t need to apologize, Carter,” he says. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Neither one of you is."

 

“I know this is probably normal,” Sam says.

 

He nods. “It is.”

 

“I just wish I knew what she was feeling,” she says.

 

The Colonel turns so he’s facing her on the couch. “She’s feeling what you’re feeling,” he says quietly.

 

That thought makes Sam tear up again, for maybe the millionth time that day, because what she’s feeling is pretty awful. She bites back the tears though, and takes another sip of her beer. She will not cry in front of Colonel O’Neill, even if he’s sitting on her couch in her living room, even if he’s delivering her beer and comforting her with his soft voice and softer brown eyes.

 

“I don’t know how to help her,” Sam says.

 

“You are helping her.” At Sam’s disbelieving look, he insists, “You are."

 

Sam leans back on the couch again, frowning and clinging tightly to her bottle of beer.

 

“And it’s ok if you need help too,” he says.

 

Sam wonders what the hell that’s supposed to mean, and gives him a questioning look that she hopes isn’t too insubordinate.

 

“I think you need a break,” he explains.

 

“A break?” Isn’t she taking a break right now?

 

“Yeah,” he says. “From Amy."

 

Sam scowls at her beer. “She’s my daughter, I love her. I want to be with her. I spend so much time missing her."

 

“You can want to be with her and need a break from her at the same time,” the Colonel says.

 

Sam considers for a moment that only the Colonel would propose such a paradox as if it were a casual truth. It is a tempting proposition, admittedly. But even if he's right, she doesn’t exactly have options for taking a break right now. She doesn’t want to start imposing on Mark and Heather any earlier than she has to, Janet is up to her ears in work and Cassie, and she really doesn’t want to have to hire a sitter, some stranger to take care of Amy while Sam goes and does… what, exactly, would she even do?

 

“Tell you what,” the Colonel says, “why don’t I take Amy tomorrow?"

 

Sam can’t quite believe she heard him right. “What?"

 

“I could come by in the morning, take her somewhere fun, out to the park or something, and we could do lunch. Give you a couple hours for something relaxing, like… reviewing gate diagnostics?” He nudges her shoulder, and Sam smiles a little bit at his teasing, but really, he can’t be serious. This idea is crazy.

 

“We can’t,” she says.

 

“Oh,” he says, and she’s not sure, but he looks maybe just a little disappointed. “You’ve got plans?”

 

“No,” Sam says. They’re staring down another big, empty day.

 

“Oh,” he says again.

 

“It’s just… she’s not really potty trained,” Sam says, because she needs to give a reason, and she thinks he might be insulted if she tells him he’s crazy. “She needs lots of prompting. By the time she tells you she has to go, it’s usually too late. She usually wears pull-ups when we go out.”

 

“Ok,” he shrugs. “I can prompt her. Or she can wear a pull-up.”

 

“Ok,” Sam says. So much for that excuse.

 

“Look,” he says after a beat. “No pressure. But I would have fun hanging out with Amy for a couple hours tomorrow, and I think you might have fun _not_ hanging out with Amy for a couple hours tomorrow. But if you’re not comfortable with it -"

 

“No,” she cuts in. “That’s not it, it’s just… you don’t have to do this, sir. It’s not your job to fix this."

 

“I’m not offering because it’s my job, Carter,” he says. “And I’m not going to _fix_ anything. I’m just trying to give you a little reprieve."

 

“From my daughter, whom I love,” she says.

 

“Yep,” he says. 

 

“And who’s driving me crazy."

 

“That’s the one."

 

Sam takes a deep breath in and out. “Ok,” she says.

 

“Ok?"

 

“Ok.” She gives him a smile, and he smiles too. They make plans for the morning, and he shows himself out. Sam remains on the couch, slowly sipping her beer and feeling somewhat less like the world is collapsing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need to say, all of you commenters, I love you, you are wonderful. You are making the experience of writing this epic fic so much fun for me, and I feel so lucky to hear your reactions and have the chance to interact with you. Thank you! Same to everyone who's left kudos or simply kept coming back when I post new chapters, THANK YOU! I really didn't know what I was getting myself into when I started this fic, and I have been totally blown away by this friendly and supportive community of readers and writers. I feel very lucky to be a part of it. XOX!


	16. Need, Part 2

The next day is Saturday, and dawn breaks on a decidedly cold and rainy late September day in Colorado. It’s not a good day for the park. Sam intends to call the Colonel and cancel, because it’s one thing to watch Amy while she runs around and entertains herself at a playground, but quite another to find something interesting to do with her inside.

 

But breakfast takes forever because Amy keeps abandoning her oatmeal to examine the pile of junk mail next to her on the counter, and when Sam moves the stack out of her reach, she protests, so Sam, fearful of another meltdown, moves the junk mail back and Amy engages her in a serious conversation about what junk mail means, and what junk means, and what mail is, and before Sam knows it, it’s 10:00, the oatmeal still isn’t eaten, her teeth are definitely not brushed, and the doorbell is ringing.

 

Sam runs to open the door, Amy hot on her heels, and there’s the Colonel. “Yes, hello, I’m looking for Amy Carter,” he says loudly. “Is there an Amy Carter in this house?"

 

“Jack!” Amy squeals. He kneels down and she launches herself at him, both of them laughing as they hug.

 

“Hey,” he says, once the laughter has subsided a little bit. “What would you think about you and me going somewhere fun today, just the two of us?"

 

“Yes!” Amy shouts gleefully, and Sam notices that Amy somehow got oatmeal in her hair.

 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Sam says, wiping the oatmeal onto her hand and then wiping her hand on her own pants. “I meant to call you. This weather is terrible. The park isn’t going to work.” 

 

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” the Colonel says to Amy, ignoring Sam completely.

 

“Me too!” Amy says, playing with the zipper on his jacket and smiling.

 

“Sir,” Sam says again, trying to get his attention. “I think we should just reschedule for -"

 

“Carter,” he cuts her off, standing up. “Where’s your sense of adventure? There are all sorts of fun things to do on a rainy day for fun people like us.” He’s grinning, and Amy is holding his hand now and sporting a matching grin.

 

“Fun things, mama!” she argues.

 

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated,” she says to the Colonel.

 

“Nonsense,” he says. “You said I could take Amy somewhere fun, and that’s what I intend to do.” He crosses his arms and looks down at Amy, who looks up at him and crosses her arms too.

 

“But you don’t have a car seat,” she says. When their plans had included the park and lunch, Sam just assumed they’d walk to a nearby park and restaurant, but that’s not an option anymore.

 

“Oh come on,” he says. “Don’t tell me you can’t install a car seat in less than ten seconds, blindfolded, with one arm tied behind your back. You of all people.” 

 

She smiles finally, because he’s right, more or less. The car seat is easy. 

 

“So?” he asks. “Is that a yes?"

 

“It’s a yes,” she replies.

 

“Yes!” Amy repeats fervently, in a way that makes Sam suddenly wonder if Amy needs a break from her as much as she needs a break from Amy.

 

The Colonel helps Amy into her rain coat and boots while Sam puts together a small bag of things Amy might need, a spare set of clothes, just in case, some pull-ups, a couple books, her stuffed bunny. She moves the car seat to the back of the Colonel’s truck, which is a little trickier than installing it in a car but still not hard at all.

 

“Ok,” Sam says when they’re ready to go. “So I’ll see you guys after lunch?” Her heart flutters and she realizes she’s nervous. She’s relinquishing her daughter to her CO, of all people, and objectively speaking, this is kind of weird.

 

“We’ll be in touch,” he says noncommittally. He holds out his hand to Amy and she takes it, and together they start walking through the rain toward his truck. “See ya, Carter,” he calls over his shoulder.

 

“See ya, mama!” Amy calls.

 

Sam shuts the door gently and leans against it, watching through the window as the Colonel straps Amy into the car seat and tests the straps to make sure they’re tight enough, but not too tight. Yep, this is definitely weird. But, she decides, it’s not bad. She can’t help but notice that he looks like a natural.

 

The house feels so quiet. Sam cleans up breakfast, then makes her way through the downstairs, collecting items here and there that Amy has distributed over the course of the last several days that Sam hasn’t gotten around to picking up. When she’s done with that, she wonders what Amy and the Colonel are up to, and checks her watch. Only twenty minutes have passed. So she goes to the kitchen and makes herself another cup of coffee, then wanders around the house aimlessly until she somehow ends up somewhere she hasn’t been since _before_ : in her parents’ room.

 

The air in the room feels thick with the memory of her mother moving around in it, making the bed or putting on earrings or reading a book. Sam closes her eyes and she can see Amy, when they first moved here, curled up next to her Nana for a nap. She sees herself curled up too, after that whole Jolinar thing, sleeping next to her mother like a little baby. She can almost feel her mom’s hand gently stroking her hair, calming her and grounding her and reminding her of who she is. She can almost see a steaming mug of tea on the nightstand, almost hear the pages of a book turn and the soft blue floral quilt rustle as her mother stops reading and looks over at her, a smile in her eyes. Sam feels suddenly like she’s been run over by a truck. She sets her coffee cup down on the nightstand where a mug of tea should be and lays down on the blue quilt.

 

Hours later, a phone call wakes her. Sam is disoriented for a moment, not sure where she is or why, but then she gets her bearings and grabs the phone off the dresser. She clears her throat and gives her best “Hello?”

 

“Carter,” the Colonel greets her. Sam looks at the digital clock that’s on the nightstand next to her now-cold cup of coffee. She can’t believe it, but it’s almost 2:00. “Just wanted to let you know, we finished lunch and Amy was pretty pooped. We went to the diner that’s just down the road from my place, you know? The one with the really good pie?” Sam does know that diner. It’s right by the base. They do have good pie. “So we just came back here and she passed out on the guest bed. Hope that’s ok."

 

Amy went down for a nap without protest? That’s better than ok. She used to be a good sleeper, but lately, getting her to sleep has been somewhat of a challenge. 

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, clearing her throat again. “That’s fine."

 

The Colonel chuckles a little; Sam figures it’s obvious enough that he’s woken her up from her own nap. “We hadn’t heard from you, and I figured you’d found something to keep you occupied. Sounds like you did."

 

“Yeah,” Sam says again, willing her brain to wake up a little faster.

 

“How long does she nap?”

 

“Usually a couple hours,” Sam says. “Once she’s down, she’s a good sleeper."

 

“She was easy to get down too,” the Colonel says. “Would’ve been harder to keep her up."

 

“You must have really worn her out, sir,” Sam says.

 

“Yeah, I took her out to P12-345,” he says, and Sam laughs a little at his obviously made-up designation, “let some Jaffa chase her around for a while. It was sunny there,” he says. “Three suns, actually. Very sunny.”

 

“Hm, I should’ve packed sunblock,” Sam replies.

 

“Yeah, and some kid-sized sunglasses next time, if you could,” he says. _Next time?_ Sam thinks to herself. “I’ll give you a call when she’s up and bring her back.”

 

“Ok,” Sam says. “Thanks, sir."

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies. “You don’t know what I let her eat for lunch."

 

When they hang up, Sam looks at the coffee she’s barely touched. If Amy was tired enough to fall asleep easily in a new bed, she must be pretty tired, so Sam figures it’s safe to assume it’ll be a while before she’s awake. Making a quick decision, she picks up the phone and dials another number. A half hour later, she and Janet are sitting at a coffee shop, sipping mochas and munching on a gigantic cookie.

 

“How long has it been since we last did this?” Janet muses. “Just you and me, no kids, no work.” Cassie is at a friend’s house, and she doesn’t need to be picked up for another hour. Sam caught Janet at just the right time. “I think it was Hathor.”

 

Sam nods. The thing about being single mom best friends, she realizes, is that as single moms, you don’t have a lot of time for best friends. Hathor seems like a _very_ long time ago.

 

“How’ve you been doing?” Janet asks.

 

“I’m ok,” Sam answers with a deep breath. “Sometimes it’s better and sometimes it’s worse, and it flips really quickly from one to the other.”

 

“Sounds disorienting,” Janet says, taking a sip of her coffee.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, and then she falls quiet.

 

“How’s Amy?” Janet asks.

 

Sam shrugs. “She’s ok too. Not great. This is tough on her.”

 

“I can imagine,” Janet says, and they fall quiet again.

 

Finally, Sam speaks up. “Honestly, Jan, I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” She looks at her friend hopefully. “I just want to be two friends out for coffee.”

 

“Ok,” Janet says with a smile. “I can do that.” She winces a little. “I think.”

 

Sam smiles back. She wonders if there are people out there without kids and without a job that consumes their life, people who aren’t constantly at war or grieving something or in crisis or in pain, who hang out with their friends outside of work all the time. It seems so strange to her.

 

“You know, there’s no way I would let Cass eat this much sugar in one sitting,” Janet says, taking another bite of their gooey cookie and licking some residual chocolate off her fingertips.

 

“I know!” Sam says with a laugh. “The guys brought dinner last night, and Oreos. I let Amy have two and she was over the moon.” This mocha and cookie snack she and Janet are sharing probably has the caloric equivalent of a whole pack of Oreos, at least, Sam thinks. The cookie is practically the size of Amy’s head.

 

“That was nice of them,” Janet says, “to bring dinner.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam replies. Her guys are hard-core, bad-ass, alien-fighting warriors, but they’re also just really nice.

 

“They miss you,” Janet says. SG-1 spent a lot of time in the infirmary last week as Daniel recovered from the sarcophagus, so she would know. “Just the way they stood. It was like they were always leaving a spot where you would’ve been standing, or a pause in the conversation where you would’ve jumped in.”

 

That thought makes Sam smile. She knows that she brings value to SG-1, that they need her, that she’s maybe even indispensable to them. She wouldn’t have decided to go back, she wouldn’t have worked out this new arrangement with Mark and Heather if she didn’t really believe that. But it’s also nice to know that they feel her absence on a personal level too.

 

“I’m looking forward to being back,” Sam says. It’s not just that she’s struggling with Amy, or that she’s itching to go back through the gate again, though both of those things are true. “It’s like my life is in limbo right now, and I’m just desperate to know what normal is going to feel like again,” she confesses.

 

Janet gives her a small but supportive smile and seems to be trying to decide whether Sam does, in fact, want to talk about it, despite her earlier protestations. “Everything all set with Heather?” she finally settles on asking.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, thinking about her sister-in-law and what it will be like to bring Amy there every day. “Amy seems excited about it too, at least for now.”

 

Janet nods. “It’s going to be a big change.”

 

“Mmhmm,” Sam agrees. She doesn’t underestimate what a big deal it was that while her mom was alive, she didn’t even have to leave the house with Amy in the morning, didn’t have to get her up and dressed and fed, didn’t have to be on a schedule. That in and of itself is going to be a huge shift for the little girl, and for Sam.

 

“They should have daycare at the base,” Janet says with a laugh, because the whole front-line-in-a-galactic-war thing kind of precludes that idea but wow, would it be convenient.

 

“Can you imagine?” Sam laughs too. “Oh my god. The Colonel would probably spend more time there than in his own office.”

 

Janet shakes her head and splits what’s left of the cookie in half, giving one chunk to Sam. “He spends a lot of time with Cassie, you know,” she says. “Colonel O’Neill.”

 

“Yeah?” Sam replies, surprised. He’s never said anything about it, but then again, why would he?

 

“Yeah,” Janet confirms. “Once a month or so, usually. He takes her places. Sometimes they go hiking, or just out to lunch, but a couple months ago he took her to an ice skating show that was in town. And he drove her up to Denver to see an exhibit at the aquarium about jellyfish. Cass had never seen anything like it on Hanka. She couldn’t stop talking about it.”

 

Sam balks at the idea of the Colonel voluntarily visiting a museum, even a museum about fish. “Wow,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” Janet says again. “I think it’s really good for her. She’s lost so much. The more time she can spend with other people who love her, in addition to me, I mean, the better.”

 

Sam hears what Janet’s not saying too. Amy has also lost someone, not a whole planet, but to the Amy, her Nana was larger than life. Maybe the Colonel can help fill a void, even in just a small way, and maybe that’s worth something. For Amy.

 

—

 

So, hours later, when the Colonel brings a very bouncy Amy back home, Sam invites him to stay for dinner. He seems surprised enough at her offer that he accepts, or maybe he just can’t refuse the way Amy smiles at him and says, “Please, Jack?” Sam has thrown together a stir fry, with chicken and lots of veggies, because god only knows what those two ate for lunch, probably pie and ketchup. The Colonel seems impressed and, again, surprised, that she made the dinner herself.

 

“You can cook, Carter?” he asks as he shovels another forkful of food into his mouth. “For the last year’s worth of team nights, you’ve been letting me rotate through the same three meals I know how to make, and all this time, you’ve been holding out on me?” Sam smiles to herself. He’s exaggerating, obviously, he can cook more than three meals and it’s just a stir fry, but still. She didn’t live with her mom for over a year and learn nothing.

 

Amy is beside herself trying to tell Sam about their day, with help and prompting from the Colonel. Apparently some upscale gardening store near downtown was having a Harvest Fest today, and even though the weather was inclement, they had room to accommodate most of the planned activities in tents and in their sizable greenhouse, including a petting zoo, balloon animals, and a sing-along, among other things.

 

Sam tries to imagine the Colonel sitting next to Amy on a bale of hay singing Old McDonald Had a Farm or something, and she comes up short. How he knew about a kid’s festival at a gardening store across town is beyond her too. But she sees the smile on Amy’s face - on both their faces, really - and feels thankful, so thankful, that they had such a good day. Amy needed a good day.

 

By the time dinner is done, Amy is starting to look sleepy again, worn out from simply being excited for so much of the day. Sam stands up to see the Colonel out.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot about what we got at the store,” he says.

 

“You went shopping too? Sir, you didn’t have to buy her anything,” Sam protests, but he ignores her and turns to Amy.

 

“Do you remember where we left the bag?” he says, and Amy nods, runs off, and returns a moment later with a plastic bag they’d dropped by the door on their way in. She proudly shows Sam what’s inside: about ten different kids’ toothbrushes and four different types of kids’ toothpaste.

 

“Look at all my new toothbrushes!” she says to Sam. “They’re mine! See?”

 

The Colonel keeps his eyes on Amy, who’s adoringly sorting out the contents of the bag. “I thought maybe you could keep some in the upstairs bathroom and some in the downstairs bathroom, and whenever it’s time to brush teeth, it might be really fun to pick what you’re going to use.”

 

Sam is completely taken aback, both by his thoughtfulness and the wisdom in this approach. She must stay silent a moment too long, because he finally turns and looks at her, and his eyes are hesitant, like he’s afraid he overstepped.

 

“Sir, I don’t know what to say.” Sam motions to the toothbrushes. “This is so… wow. How did you know?”

 

He shrugs and looks down at his feet in a gesture that doesn’t at all fit the man who only a couple months ago saved the planet. “Not the first kid I’ve ever met who hates brushing their teeth.”

 

Of course. Sam remembers in a flash - and how could she have forgotten, even for a second - that he’s been a parent too, that he had a two-year-old once too, one who, perhaps, didn’t like to brush his teeth. And he knows grief too, knows it better than she does. All the things he’s been doing to help and support her since her mom died have been borne out of his actual, personal experience.

 

She wonders if Charlie had tantrums. She wonders if this trick worked with him. She wonders if he ever took Charlie to a Harvest Fest at that gardening store near downtown.

 

Sam knows she needs to say something, now, so things don’t get awkward, or more awkward, but she’s frozen up with this sudden realization. Fortunately, Amy comes to her rescue. “Can I brush my teeth _right now,_ mama?” she asks.

 

Sam runs a hand over her daughter’s hair. “You sure can,” she says. “But let’s say goodbye first, ok?”

 

They all three walk to the door. The Colonel crouches down on the floor so he’s eye-level with Amy. Sam has seen him do this a lot and thinks it must be killer on his bad knee, but she also knows what a difference it makes for Amy to have someone talking at her level, and not towering over her and talking down to her. The Colonel thanks her for hanging out today and she wraps her arms around his neck and tells him she loves her new toothbrushes.

 

Then he stands and looks at Sam. She feels this insane urge to touch him, and she’s not sure where it’s coming from. She wants to hug him, or shake his hand, or squeeze his arm, just some kind of contact. With Daniel or Teal’c, she wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t think anything of it. But this is the Colonel. So instead she just grips the door handle.

 

“Thank you, sir,” she says. “For everything. I can’t tell you how much I needed this. Amy too.”

 

He smiles that easy smile of his, and pats her arm once as he turns to go. Sam feels a spark of relief shoot through her at the contact. “Maybe we can all do this again sometime,” he says casually.

 

“Maybe tomorrow!” Amy is jumping up and down, fists full of toothbrushes, and Sam smiles.

 

“I think we’d like that,” she says. They would definitely like that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, ok, this chapter concludes the "Sam's mom just died" arc, and I'm going to go back to my normal posting schedule, with a new chapter once or twice per week. Thanks for sticking with me!


	17. Message in a Bottle

That first Saturday together goes so well that when the next Saturday rolls around and the Colonel offers to hang out with Amy for a while again, Sam agrees without hesitation. This time, the weather really is nice, and he takes her to the park and out to lunch, like they’d planned to do the week before. It’s Sam’s last weekend before returning to work, and she gets a chance to take care of some things around the house before her leave is over. Amy is home in time for her nap, no worse for the wear.

  


Sam drops Amy off with Heather and the boys on Monday, her first day back. Everything goes smoothly but somehow takes a lot longer than she’d expected, and she arrives at the SGC later than she’d planned. The Colonel has brought donuts, and she’s with her teammates, munching on a chocolate-frosted long john and reacquainting herself with her lab when there’s an unscheduled off-world activation. It’s the Cimmerians. It looks like Sam came back just in time.

  


They have to twist Hammond’s arm a little, but thirty minutes later, Sam is geared up and standing on the ramp in the gate room, flanked by her team, and it feels good, even if they’re potentially walking into a war zone. War zones she can handle.

  


Sam feels her brain begin to spin in ways it hasn’t for almost a month. She thinks about the Asgard, the race that protects Cimmeria, about the device they have - or used to have - which could remove a Goa’uld but leave the host intact. She thinks about the potential it represents. If SG-1 can help Cimmeria, if they can somehow fix Thor’s Hammer, and maybe even figure out how to replicate it, or weaponize it… she imagines installing hammers on every planet that’s threatened by the Goa’uld, or building a de-goa’uld-ing ray gun of some kind… _This_ is why she came back to work, _this_ is why she belongs here, to fix things and create things and help people and stop the war. She takes a deep breath and steps through the event horizon, Captain Samantha Carter, SG-1.

  


—

  


Sam is still buzzing with adrenaline as they step back through the gate at the SGC. Thor exists, he wiped out Heru’ur’s ships and Jaffa, he plans to fix the Hammer they’d broken, and… and he lives in a different galaxy and there’s no way to contact him. Still, the fact that a race so technologically advanced exists, and furthermore, doesn’t hate SG-1, that’s something.

  


By the time Sam leaves the base and gets to Mark and Heather’s house, it’s about three hours later than she’d planned. Amy is ready for bed, dressed in her pajamas. Mark and Heather have a guest bedroom with a single-sized bed that will serve as Amy’s when she has to stay with them overnight.

  


“I’m so sorry,” Sam says to Heather, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty about her day. “Something came up and I… I couldn’t get away.” She hugs Amy and smooths her hand over Amy’s curly blond hair. She thinks about the child she saw on Cimmeria, clinging to the leg of a man whom the Horus guards were about to execute, right before the Asgard showed up. Yeah, something came up. She tries to shake the guilt but it’s hard.

  


“It’s ok,” Heather says. “George called and explained everything.”

  


Sam looks up in surprise. Heather probably has no idea how unusual it is for the base commander to be the one to make a phone call like this. “He did?”

  


“Well, not everything,” Heather says with a smile. “And he said in the future we could expect calls from someone named Walt? I think? Was it Walter? But that today was a pretty unique situation.”

  


“It was,” Sam assures her, though also, it kind of wasn’t.

  


“Anyway, he didn’t know if you’d be back tonight, so we went ahead with our normal bedtime routine, just in case.” Sam now notices Kyle and Gus, also dressed in their pajamas, sitting on the couch holding bedtime story books.

  


“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Sam says, but Heather shakes her head.

  


“It’s ok,” she insists. “This is what we signed up for, right?”

  


Sam thinks that really, none of them can know what they’ve signed up for. But she doesn’t say that, not on their first day.

  


—

  


Work evens out after that explosive first day back, and as Sam settles into a routine with SG-1 again, Amy is also quickly embracing her new routine with Colonel O’Neill. Saturdays together are now a regular thing.

  


The next Saturday, the Colonel takes Amy to the public library. She returns home after lunch ecstatic, waving a green and white card around in the air.

  


“Look at my card!” she practically screams, smiling at Sam and jumping around as the Colonel walks calmly behind her carrying a tote bag full of books. “It’s _my_ library card! That’s my name! See? It says Amy!”

  


Sam manages to get ahold of the card and, sure enough, it says Amy Carter on the front, right underneath the logo of the Colorado Springs Public Library.

  


“Did you know there’s no age requirement to get a library card in Colorado Springs?” the Colonel says to Sam as she inspects the card. “You just have to be a human, who’s alive, with a local address.”

  


Sam smirks at him. “Don’t tell Teal’c,” she says. “He’d be crushed.”

  


“Or Daniel,” he says with an answering smile. “You know how he comes and goes.”

  


Sam can’t quite hold back a chuckle at that as she flips the library card over. There, on the back, it says Jack O’Neill, and lists his address and phone number.

  


“I hope that’s ok,” he says. “We were just going to use my card but when we found out Amy could get her own…”

  


“ _My own_ ,” Amy says. “They have so, so, so many books! Mama, you have to come.” She takes Sam’s hand and starts leading her back toward the door.

  


“Oh,” Sam says. “I’d love to go to the library with you sometime, but not right now. Right now it’s nap time.”

  


Amy scowls. “I don’t want to do a nap.”

  


“Ah, you might not want to, but you do _need_ to,” Sam says. Amy looks unimpressed, though this resistance is nowhere near the level of a tantrum, this is just standard operating procedure for a two-and-a-half year old at nap time.

  


The Colonel looks back and forth between Sam and Amy for a moment and gives a small shrug. “Maybe I could do nap time today?” he says. Both Carters turn sharply and look at him, Sam in surprise and Amy in delight.

  


“Yes!” Amy says. “I want to do nap time with Jack! We can read my new library books!”

  


“Well, we can’t read _all_ of them,” he says. “But we can read…” he looks to Sam, a question in his eyes, and she realizes she’s kind of gaping at him.

  


For the last couple weeks, Sam has been trying to just roll with this whole thing where her daughter hangs out with her commanding officer sometimes. It’s weird, but it’s working. Amy’s tantrums have lessened, she’s settling in well with her cousins, and her time with the Colonel, it’s… nice. It’s helping. “Two?” she says finally.

  


“We can read two,” he says to Amy.

  


“We can read two!” Amy repeats happily. She drops Sam’s hand and takes his instead, and starts to lead him up the stairs.

  


“Are you sure, sir?” Sam says, though really, it’s too late to back out now, and they both know it.

  


“I did it once before,” he says, and Sam thinks, what the hell. Let him try.

  


—

  


As it turns out, letting an exhausted Amy Carter pass out in your guest bed is very different from trying to get a tired but not exhausted Amy Carter down for her regular afternoon nap. First, she has to use the bathroom and wash her hands and put on a pull-up, which somehow takes fifteen minutes, and then she has to pick which two books she wants to read from the twelve or so they checked out earlier today, and that in and of itself takes another ten minutes, not to mention actually reading the books.

  


Finally, the books are read and Amy is tucked in and Jack thinks this must be it. Putting her down for a nap has already taken long enough that Jack is embarrassed to go downstairs and face Carter. But Amy still has other ideas. “Now you have to sing a song,” she says.

  


“A song?”

  


“Yes,” she says with an air of solemnity that tells Jack he’s definitely not getting out of this.

  


“Ok,” he says. He said he would do nap time. This is nap time. He will get the job done. “What kind of song?”

  


“Mama sings Twinkle Twinkle,” she says.

  


“I know that one,” Jack says, relieved. Amy, pleased, snuggles in next to him and Jack sings, out loud, for the first time in a very long time, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

  


When the song is over, Amy sits up and turns to him with a scowl. “And you have to sing the rest,” she says.

  


“The rest?” Jack repeats.

  


“Yes,” she confirms. “The rest. You have to sing it all.”

  


“I don’t know the rest,” Jack says, dumbfounded. There are more words to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?

  


“Yes you do,” Amy insists.

  


“I don’t,” Jack says. “Can you sing it for me?”

  


Amy looks suspicious, but she complies. She settles back in against him and, in a sweet, clear voice, begins to sing:

_When the blazing sun is gone_

_When he nothing shines upon_

_Then you show your little light_

_Twinkle, twinkle all the night…_

  


She goes on for a while, apparently there are _lots_ more words to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

  


When she’s done, she turns and looks at him again. “Now you have to sing a different song,” she says, “if you can’t sing Twinkle Twinkle.”

  


Jack feels appropriately put in his place. He racks his brain, but for the life of him, the only other bedtime song he can think of is the song he used to sing to a different child, the one he sang when he was home. Swallowing hard, he pushes down memories of a blond boy in race car pajamas and clears his throat. “How about this one:

_Well the sun is surely sinking down,_

_But the moon is slowly rising,_

_So this old world must still be spinning ‘round,_

_And I still love you._

_So close your eyes…”_

  


_—_

  


The next Saturday, Carter shows up at the Jack’s house to drop Amy off at 10:00 am.

  


“You got any fun plans for the day, Carter?” he asks. They’re still outside, the two adults standing in the driveway and Amy already off, kicking through the leaves that have fallen in Jack’s front yard. He’d brought home a couple new big boxes from the SGC for himself and Amy to play with today, but he’s starting to think it’s maybe too nice out for an indoor project. This October weather is perfect, crisp and sunny, cool but not too cold, not yet. They should do something outside.

  


Carter shrugs. “Yard work.”

  


“Yard work?” Jack loves yard work. He loves the way the dirt smells. He loves when his forearms are sore from raking. He loves getting just a little bit sunburned on the back of his neck. He loves chopping things down. He even loves shoveling snow, though it’s still too early for that.

  


But Carter doesn’t seem very excited at all. She actually looks kind of overwhelmed. “There’s a lot of stuff to do at the house, with the yard… I think… honestly, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, but I was just going to… rake, maybe…”

  


“Oh,” he says, and without hesitation, he adds, “well, we can help.” His own yard is in great shape for the winter, and he can always tinker around, but the prospect of a whole, big, tree-filled yard in need of some work, that sounds downright tantalizing.

  


“This is helping,” Carter says with a small smile, gesturing toward Amy. “She’s been looking forward to this all week.”

  


Well, that’s nice to hear. The whole reason Jack is doing this - this, Saturdays, Amy - is to give her something special, something to look forward to. She’s lost so much, and she’s such a sweet kid. And it’s no hardship for Jack either, since Amy usually likes to do exactly the kinds of things he likes to do anyway.

  


“I’m good at yard work,” Jack says. “Not as good as I am with a block of C-4, but, you know, still pretty good.”

  


Carter looks at him tentatively, and he’s reminded of that night at her house shortly after her mom died, that night he’d first proposed hanging out with Amy for a while. He realizes that she might need some convincing to accept his help.

  


“It’s going to take a lot more than raking, you know,” he says, looking off at his own yard, which he takes pride in maintaining. Her eyes follow his. “You’ve got to cut the lawn down one last time, nice and short. You’ve got to clean out the gutters. You’ve got to prune back the perennials. And do you have any bulbs?”

  


Carter looks good and terrified now. “Bulbs?”

  


“Just let me grab a few things out of the garage,” he says. They can order out for lunch for the three of them and have it delivered. It’ll be fun. “Amy!” he calls. She’s jumping around on the stones that line his front walkway. “Good news! We’re doing yard work today! You wanna ride with me or with your mom?”

  


“I wanna ride with…. you!” She jumps on the last word and points her finger at Jack mid-air, with a smile that could make anyone like yard work.

  


Standing next to him in the driveway, Carter looks just a little bit relieved. Then she turns to move the car seat back over to his truck, something she’s gotten very good at.

  


—

  


They don’t get through all the yard work at the Carter residence on Saturday, which doesn’t surprise Jack at all. The yard is big and Carter hasn’t really been doing much with it for the last couple months, and, as with most things, Amy’s help makes everything take longer. They make plans to finish it up the following Saturday.

  


On Sunday, Jack takes Cassie out for lunch and pie. He’s been seeing less of her since the school year started - she’s in middle school now, and she seems to be really making friends. On top of that, she’s joined a soccer team. Jack is so proud of how far she’s come. It’s been less than a year since she lost her whole planet and came to this one, and she’s already got a social calendar to maintain. He asks if he can come watch soccer practice sometime, and when she makes a face and tells him that would be weird, Jack grins. She’ll be an bona-fide Earth teenager before they know it. He promises to come to a game once they start up next month, and she says that would be ok.

  


Jack stops in at the Home Depot on his way home from the Fraisers after dropping Cassie off on Sunday afternoon and buys a pink kid-sized matching rake and shovel set, along with a pair of floral gardening gloves. Amy may not exactly be helpful, but she is enthusiastic, and the only thing to do about that is indulge her completely.

  


Then on Monday, SG-1 has an overnight on P2X-441. As per usual, Carter gets first watch, Teal’c second, Jack third, and Daniel gets the last shift, so he can make (and consume, as much as needed) the coffee. Jack is exhausted as Daniel yawns and trudges in his direction, taking a seat next to him on a long, knobby log.

  


But the night sky is stunning, with twin crescent moons above and stars shining brightly against the midnight blue sky. One might even say the stars are twinkling.

  


“Daniel,” Jack says pensively, still looking at the sky. “Did you know Twinkle Twinkle Little Star has verses?”

  


“What?” Daniel asks, rubbing his eyes and looking confused as he puts his glasses back in place.

  


“Verses,” Jack says. “Lots of verses.”

  


“It doesn’t have verses,” Daniel says, rubbing his face vigorously and sounding very sure of himself.

  


“I’m telling you, it does.”

  


Daniel yawns. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is just a common rhyme set to a common melody,” he says, starting to sound a little more awake. “The tune is really prevalent,” he stretches his arms up in the air and shakes his head from side to side. “It predates Mozart and Bach, they both used the theme, so maybe mid-18th century? Even today, it’s the same tune commonly used for the alphabet song, obviously.”

  


“Obviously,” Jack repeats, though really, he hadn’t quite thought about that before.

  


“And the words are a children’s rhyme.” Daniel stomps his feet and claps his hands together. Jack has seen Daniel’s night-shift wake-up routine enough times to know that he’s almost there. “It’s a poem, written in couplets, and the poem itself has several stanzas, but it’s only the first that’s commonly sung and acknowledged as the well-known children’s lullaby.”

  


Jack waves his hand in the air. “So you’re saying the song has verses.”

  


“I’m saying the poem has stanzas,” Daniel clarifies.

  


Jack rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just said yes.”

  


—

  


On Tuesday morning, the Colonel gives Daniel three more hours to determine if the obelisk covered in strange markings might somehow help them beat the Goa’uld, or if it’s safe for SG-1 to pack it in and put this planet on the long list of ones waiting for a follow-up visit from one of the new SG archaeology teams.

  


Sam knows Daniel hates being put on the spot, having such a relatively small window of time to prove the worth the planet and the worth of his own work. But she also respects where the Colonel is coming from. SG-1 is a field unit, they’re on-the-ground, they don’t get to spend days or weeks or months theorizing about the meaning of long-dead cultures on long-abandoned planets. She feels the frustration herself sometimes with her own work, she rarely has time to really dig in on anything, really sit with it, let herself follow her own curiosities and be inspired to envision, to create. But SG-1 is where she belongs, and Daniel too, and he knows it. He’ll grouse and complain and push for more time, but when his three hours are up, Sam knows he’ll go home with his team.

  


Teal’c stays with Daniel to help with the translation. He’s actually pretty good at identifying words that resemble some form of current or ancient Goa’uld, and more than that, he’s good at keeping Daniel on task. Sam and the Colonel walk the perimeter, again, though they’ve been here now for 24 hours with no indication of life signs belonging to anything bigger than a chipmunk.

  


But the terrain is easy and the scenery is pretty - they’re on a raised grassy plain, and in the distance, mountains are visible. Sam does respect Daniel’s work but she’d rather have a nice walk around a nice planet on a nice day than stare at that obelisk for a second longer.

  


“Hey,” the Colonel says. “How’s Amy been doing with the teeth… stuff?” They’ve been walking for about a half hour, making comments or easy jokes here and there but mostly keeping quiet.

  


“She’s doing alright,” Sam says, and it’s true. Amy’s genuine enthusiasm for her toothbrushes has not waned, and it’s helped navigate a minefield of potential bedtime-related tantrum generators to have her so motivated about at least one of her bedtime tasks. “She doesn’t like the toothpaste with the ladybugs on it. She says it’s too toothpaste-y.” It’s the one toothpaste that actually tastes like mint.

  


The Colonel chuckles. “I had my doubts about that one,” he says. “Never trust a toothpaste with bugs on it, that’s what I always say.”

  


Sam smiles too. “I have heard you say that, sir,” she says gamely.

  


It’s quiet for a moment longer, and then the Colonel says, “I mean, I know it’s not really about the teeth.”

  


Sam stops her walking and looks at him. She finds it curious that he feels this need to explain himself. “I know,” she says. “It’s not really, except, it is. At least a little bit.” And that’s the one little bit of it that they can actually do something about.

  


“Yeah,” he nods and looks relieved at her understanding. She wants to ask about Charlie, about tantrums and toothpaste and being two, parenting a two-year-old, but she hesitates too long and loses her nerve. So instead, she turns and resumes her walking, and the Colonel falls in step beside her.

  


“I’m going to guess you’re a strawberry toothpaste kind of guy, aren’t you, sir?”

  


“Are you kidding me?” he replies. “Bubble gum all the way.”

  


—

  


On Wednesday, they don their space gear and retrieve a weird ball thing from P5C-353. Said weird ball thing keeps Carter and Daniel up all night, trying to figure out what it is before it gets shipped off to the NID.

  


Then on Thursday, the ball thing spears Jack up against a wall in the gate room and infects him with a microscopic alien organism that damn near kills him - and takes over the planet - before letting him go.

  


The strangest thing is that Jack feels fine. It was hours and hours of torture, hanging there up against that wall slowly dying, but later, after the organisms and their damn ball left through the Stargate and Jack came to on the ramp in the gate room, it was like nothing had happened. His hand had flown to the spot on his shoulder where he’d expected to find a hole, a scar, or some kind of mark, at the very, very least, but there’s nothing. So on Friday, Doctor Fraiser lets him go home.

  


On Saturday at 10:00 am, Carter looks shocked to see him standing on her front porch, and he doesn’t think it’s because he stopped for muffins.

  


“Sir,” she says, her mouth hanging slightly open.

  


“Jack!” Amy says, buzzing past her mother and into Jack’s arms. Carter watches in surprise as he picks her up and swings her around.

  


“How are you feeling, sir?” Carter asks him as she takes the box of muffins from him. They walk together to the kitchen.

  


“You’re sick?” Amy asks, suddenly looking concerned.

  


“No,” Jack reassures her. “I’m fine."

  


“But why did mama say how are you feeling?”

  


“Well,” Jack says tentatively, glancing between Amy and her mom, “I got hurt at work a couple days ago. But I’m fine now."

  


“You got hurt?” Amy seems alarmed, and she looks to her mom for confirmation, or perhaps in accusation for not informing her sooner.

  


“He’s ok, sweetie, see?” Carter motions at Jack with a tentative smile and then runs her hand along her daughter’s hair as she turns to start the coffee. It’s clear she’s trying to put on a good front for Amy’s sake, but Jack knows how freaked out she was by what happened. She took a hell of a risk in letting the alien organism flourish so it could posses Jack and communicate with them, but Jack trusted her to do the right thing. If nothing else, he know she would never give up on him.

  


Amy has turned her attention back to Jack. “Tell me the story,” she says. She’s been doing this more and more, asking for stories, and not just stories from her books.

  


Jack looks up at Carter, who looks back with a shrug, which Jack interprets to mean that it’s up to him, what he wants to tell her. In a sudden flash of storytelling genius, he comes up with a great idea: to tell her the truth.

  


“We were looking through some… stuff. Some new stuff at work that we’d just picked up.”

  


“New stuff?” Amy says, her eyes sparkling with interest. She’s already hooked. It’s too easy with kids, really. Kids love stuff.

  


“Yeah, very new. And one of the things was a ball."

  


“A big ball?"

  


“Not very big,” Jack says. “It was about -“ he holds up his hands, approximating the size of the ball “- this big, at least at first."

  


Amy’s eyes go wide. “The ball gets bigger?” Next to her, Carter is busying herself putting the muffins on a plate as the coffee brews.

  


“Yes,” he says, with a solemn nod.

  


“Ah!” Amy squeals. “How big! How big!” She’s actually jumping up and down. If only General Hammond were such a receptive audience. Or that asshole Pentagon liaison officer Samuels. He tries to imagine Samuels jumping up and down in excitement, but he can’t quite picture it.

  


“I’ll tell you,” Jack says. "We took the mysterious ball into the… the biggest room we have, and do you know what it did?"

  


“Yes!” Amy shouts, her affirmative answer more a reflection of her excitement than of her actual knowledge of what happened.

  


“It went floating up into the air, and lots of great big long arms came shooting out of it!"

 

“Arms?” Amy’s jaw drops. No doubt she is picturing elbows and fingers and the like. Jack quite likes that image himself.

  


“Yep,” he says. "And one of the arms went through my shoulder,” Jack indicated where he had been impaled, “and I got stuck up on the wall, way, way up high off the ground.” He points up at the ceiling. Behind Amy, Carter is gaping at him. She’s been doing that a lot lately.

  


Amy is also agog. “What did you say?” she asks with urgency.

  


“I said, ‘Ow!’” Jack makes an exaggeratedly pained face and squeezes his shoulder. It’s amazing how it doesn’t hurt at all. At the time he’d thought he was going to die, hanging up there on that wall. Jack thinks he sees Carter grimace as she opens the fridge door to get the milk out for Amy.

  


As for Amy, she laughs in relief, like that was absolutely the right thing for him to say, right enough that it would undoubtedly solve the problem. “And what did the ball say?"

  


“Oh.” Jack stops to think for a moment. “The ball said… well, first, your mom had to figure out how to talk to the ball."

  


“Because arms don’t have mouths!” Amy supplies.

  


Arms don’t have mouths, Jack thinks. It’s obvious, really. Arms don’t have mouths so of course the alien organisms needed to possess Jack’s body to communicate with the sentient beings on this planet. “Right,” he says. “But your mom figured out how to talk to it anyway, so then when I said 'ow' again, the ball said, 'oh, sorry.’"

  


“And then what did you say?!” Amy is beside herself with excitement about this conversation with the ball.

  


“Um… I said, ‘Can you please let me down now?’ And it did."

  


“Ha!” Amy laughs. “It let you down! You’re ok!"

  


Jack looks up at Carter, who has her hand over her face, but he can see that she’s smiling. It’s hard not to, when Amy is so obviously pleased with his recounting of their day. Maybe this is how he should write up his mission report. He’d much prefer to remember it this way anyway. “As good as new,” he says.

  


“Can I see it?"

  


“The ball?” he asks. Carter gives him another look now, one that clearly says _do not engage_.

  


“Your owie."

  


“Oh,” Jack says, feeling relieved. “Well I don’t even really have one anymore. I got better really fast.”

  


“Did you have a bandaid?” When you’re two-and-a-half, there’s nothing that rivals the mystical, all-healing power of a bandaid.

  


“Yep,” Jack nods. “A really good bandaid."

  


“Can I see your bandaid?"

  


“Amy,” Carter interjects, and Amy turns to look at her mom, who has apparently decided it’s time to change the subject. “We’re going to eat now. Can you go wash your hands?"

  


Amy narrows her eyes slightly at her mother, but Carter doesn’t look like she’s going to back down. Relenting, Amy turns to Jack. “Can you help me, Jack?"

  


“You know how to wash your hands all by yourself,” Carter reminds her.

  


“I need to wash my hands too, Carter,” Jack says, standing up. Amy takes his hand and together, they walk to the bathroom. He flicks on the light and lifts Amy up on his knee so she can reach the faucet, even though there’s a perfectly good step stool right next to them.

  


Now that it’s just the two of them, Amy looks up at Jack with a grin. “ _Now_ can I see your bandaid?"

  


  


—

  


They eat muffins and drink coffee and milk and rake leaves and jump in leaf piles and rake them again. Amy is thrilled to have her own rake and shovel, and even Carter seems to find them endearing, the pink notwithstanding. After a solid two hours of running around outside under the pretense of doing yard work, Amy has regained her appetite, and they go inside for lunch. Carter, who also seems tired, pulls a pizza out of the freezer and throws it in the oven. Jack could eat the whole pizza himself, but then she takes out a head of broccoli, chops it up and puts it in a pot on the stove to cook. Then she takes a bag of carrot sticks out of the fridge and dumps it into a bowl. “Double vegetables, Carter?” Jack whines, but not loud enough for Amy to hear.

  


Carter raises an eyebrow at him. “Muffins _and_ pizza, sir?” she counters.

  


Fair enough.

  


Once lunch is consumed, along with dessert - if one can call sliced apples dessert - Jack volunteers to be on nap duty. He’s determined to get his time down below 20 minutes, which Carter tells him is her good-day average, and Amy seems tired enough today that he just might be able to pull it off. They do the potty thing and the pull-up thing without too much fanfare, and once they settle into her room, he asks, “Do you want to pick out a book?”

  


“Hm,” she says. She spares a glance for the approximately 5,000 books over on her shelf. “No,” she says. “I want you to tell me a story again.”

  


“Tell you a story?”

  


“Yes,” Amy replies. “Not a book story. A you story. From your mouth.” She points a small finger at his mouth. “Like the ball story. Tell me another story about you and mama going to work.”

  


“Ok….” Jack says, carefully considering his options. Really, now that he thinks about it, there’s some pretty good potential for children’s stories hidden away in all those mission reports. He’ll have to do some editing, of course, and some jazzing up as needed, but overall, it’s pretty decent source material.

  


“Once upon a time,” he begins, “There was a giant fish in the ocean who couldn’t find his friend, and he needed Daniel’s help…”

  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jack sings to Amy at nap time is "You Can Close Your Eyes," a James Taylor bedtime classic.


	18. Secrets

This year, it’s three weeks into November by the time Carter shows up at the SGC with an orange bucket of Halloween candy.

 

“Captain Carter,” Jack says. “You did not.”

 

“She hasn’t even asked about it in over a week, sir,” Carter tries to assure him, but Jack isn’t having any of it. It’s a bigger bucket this year, with more candy in it, which seems to imply that they covered more territory and hopefully Amy got to actually eat more of it before Carter confiscated the rest. Again.

 

“What was it this year?” he asks, his face stern. He remembers her strategy - plying Amy with a short-term, more attractive dessert option until she forgets the Halloween candy entirely and goes back to eating healthy things for dessert. “Cookies again? Brownies? God forbid, did you trick her with cake?”

 

“It was pie,” Carter says, looking a little bit sheepish, which is good, because this is reprehensible.

 

But also, he’s a little bit impressed. “Pie? Did you _buy_ a pie?”

 

“I _made_ a pie,” she says, looking pleased with herself now, because apparently she can tell he’s impressed.

 

“What kind of pie?” Dammit, now she’s distracting him with pie.

 

“Pumpkin,” she said. “We’re going to Mark’s next week for Thanksgiving and I said we’d bring pie. I wanted to make sure I could do it, I’ve never made one by myself before…”

 

She trails off a little bit, and it’s not hard for Jack to imagine who she used to make pie with, who might have taught her how to do it. It’s been just over two months since Jane died, and while Carter and Amy both seem to be doing about as well as can be expected, two months is not a long time, not long at all. The whole first year, everything is so hard, as you hit all the holidays and milestones for the first time.

 

“Hey,” he says, feeling charitable all of a sudden. “Did she go with the dinosaur costume?”

 

Carter lights back up, like he’d hoped she would. “She did! I took pictures, I should show you.”

 

Amy had her pick of about ten different costumes, all hand-me-downs from her cousins. Kyle is a couple years older, Jack has learned, and Gus is not all that much older, but he is a lot bigger. All of their old stuff fits Amy, at least as well as a Halloween costume ever really fits anyone. Last Jack heard, Amy had been going back and forth between the dinosaur costume, a banana costume, and the cow costume she wore last year that still fits her and apparently has a special place in her heart. He’d been pulling for the dinosaur, and he keeps forgetting to ask which costume won out.

 

“I can see them tomorrow?” he suggests. Tomorrow is Saturday, and he and Amy have their standing 10:00 appointment, though for the last few weeks, he and Carter have hung out for a while too after Amy has gone down for her nap. They mostly just talk about Amy.

 

“Yeah!” she says with a smile. She looks like she’s about to say something else, but then Daniel and Teal’c walk into the room and she straightens in her chair. “Sounds good, sir.”

 

He tilts his head to the side a little bit, noticing the shift. It’s not that they’ve been specifically concealing the Saturdays thing from the guys, it just… hasn’t come up. The time he spends with Cassie never really comes up either. It’s not like they all sit around on Monday mornings and give a comprehensive accounting of their weekend activities.

 

“What sounds good?” Daniel asks.

 

Jack has almost brought it up once or twice, actually, but he’s a little bit afraid that if Daniel and Teal’c knew about him spending time with Cassie, and now Amy, they’d want to tag along, and then the three guys would end up talking to each other more than the kid, and it would totally undermine the purpose of his time with them in the first place.

 

“Halloween candy,” Carter says, holding out the orange bucket.

 

Jack remembers that he’s supposed to be upset about this and makes a face. “If you like stealing.”

 

—

 

The Monday before Thanksgiving, half of SG-1 flies out to Washington DC to receive Air Medals from the President of the United States. Apparently, thoroughly disobeying a direct order - and in doing so, stopping Apophis’s attack on Earth - has earned them not a reprimand, but a medal. Sam feels tentatively excited about the medal and a little bit nostalgic about being back in her old stomping grounds. She hasn’t spent any time in DC since Amy was a baby, which seems like a very long time ago.

 

Sam and the Colonel walk into the room where the reception is being held. Sam takes in the grand staircase, the overabundance of concrete, the Air Force brass and other government officials schmoozing below. They pause at the top of the stairs, and she steals a glance in the Colonel’s direction. She feels quite confident that he would rather be chased by a hoard of Jaffa right now.

 

“Ok,” he says in a low voice, “here’s how it’s going to go.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the room below as he explains, “We’re going to go down these stairs, we’re going to throw back a glass of punch, say hello to Hammond, and then make an exit and go get a real drink somewhere, and be back in time for our new medals.”

 

Sam tucks her chin and smiles. He may be a full-bird Colonel, but really, he’s incorrigible. “This reception is for us, sir,” she says.

 

“And yet I don’t recall anyone asking me if I wanted two full hours of punch and small talk,” he says. “Because if they had, I would’ve spat in their face.”

 

Sam tries to bite back a chuckle at this, but doesn’t quite succeed.

 

“Laugh all you want, Captain. You won’t be laughing a half hour from now when I’m having a beer and you’re trying to figure out how to look professional while balancing punch and hor d’oeuvres in front of General Whatshisname.”

 

Sam does laugh at this, and shakes her head.

 

“Fine,” he says. “But consider yourself invited. Because I’m going with or without you.”

 

Sam does not doubt this.

 

Together, they descend the stairs, and Sam catches sight of Hammond. “I see General Hammond's already doing the rounds,” she remarks.

 

“Oh yeah,” the Colonel says, snapping his fingers. “He's a player. He knows how to work a room.” Sam fights hard not to laugh at this too, because really, a room full of Air Force Generals is not the place to be caught giggling at your CO, even if that CO is Jack O’Neill. But she sincerely doubts that anyone has ever accused General Hammond of being a player before this moment, jokingly or otherwise.

 

“Punch?” he asks. It’s step one of his escape plan. Sam nods supportively and makes her way toward General Hammond. As she approaches, she notices that the back of the head of the man he’s speaking with looks strikingly familiar.

 

“Dad.”

 

Jacob Carter turns and looks at her with a practiced smile, opening his arms for a hug. She hasn’t seen him since that night after her mom’s funeral, which is all the stranger because she’s living in his house. But he hardly ever came home when Jane was alive, why would he bother now? Sam hugs him back and tries to reel in her emotions.

 

“I invited Jake myself, Captain,” Hammond is saying as the Colonel walks back up to them and hands Sam her punch. Sam looks nervously between her dad and her CO.

 

“Dad, you remember Colonel O’Neill,” she says, though of course, he does.

 

“How could I forget,” Jacob replies as he turns to face the Colonel, and Sam recalls in a flash their brief interaction at her mom’s funeral. Her jaw clenches and she prays to whatever gods they haven’t killed yet that her dad won’t refer to Colonel O’Neill as “the guy from the parking lot” in front of General Hammond. “My daughter’s commanding officer,” Jacob finishes. His tone is almost menacing, but Sam feels relief, she knows it could’ve been so much worse.

 

All of a sudden, that beer is sounding really good.

 

“Always a pleasure, General,” the Colonel replies.

 

“How are things these days working in… what the hell was that again?” Jacob is looking intently at the Colonel, and it’s all Sam can do not to huff in exasperation and roll her eyes. He knows exactly where she works, or where it is she’s supposed to be working, at least, but her dad is looking at the Colonel right now like he’s fresh meat.

 

“Analysis of deep space radar telemetry,” Sam bites out, hoping she can put a stop to this line of questioning. Couldn’t he just for once leave it alone?

 

Jacob’s eyes flick to her and then back to the Colonel. “Right,” he says. “Of course. Radars.”

 

“I’d say it’s been pretty fascinating, as always,” the Colonel replies, and Sam can tell by his breathing that he’s making a real effort not to say what’s actually on his mind.

 

“I’m sure it is,” Jacob says eagerly. “Otherwise you wouldn't be receiving the Air Medal.” He narrows his eyes at the Colonel, and Sam wants to crawl into a hole in the ground and wait there until this is over. Unfortunately, no such hole exists, and even the prospect of a drink with the Colonel has disappeared now that her dad is here.

 

“We have our moments,” the Colonel says casually, his eyes drifting to the exit. Then he looks back at Sam and cocks his head a tiny little bit, a question in his eyes. Does she need him to stay? She sighs and shakes her head ever so slightly, and hopes her dad doesn’t notice their silent communication and imply even more than he’s already implied about their relationship.

 

The Colonel makes his exit, looking somewhat guilty, and Sam settles herself in for the long haul. She’sa soldier. She’s trained to endure, to persevere. She can survive this reception.

 

But in the end, there is no ceremony, no medals, no president, because Colonel O’Neill watched a reporter who was about to break the Stargate Program get hit by a car and die.

 

Sam looks around the room where the reception was being held, unable to locate her dad. She had been talking with General Hammond as the other guests dispersed, and she didn’t see where Jacob went.

 

She’s hoping they can talk before she’s got to leave to catch her flight back to Peterson, because she’s not comfortable with the level of anger she’s feeling towards him right now. He just had to push the NASA thing, here of all places, at a ceremony where she was supposed to have received an Air Medal because the work she is currently doing - which he _knows_ is highly classified - is so profoundly important. She wishes that just for once, he would trust her, trust that she’s doing the right thing, making the right decisions for herself and her life. She wishes he could see that she’s happy, that her contributions are valuable, and let that be enough.

 

She finds him, finally, standing alone in a conference room on the third floor, staring out the window. She explains as concisely as she can why the ceremony was canceled, and he nods in understanding, then takes a deep breath and breaks her world apart.

 

“I have cancer, Sam.”

 

Sam feels like the rest of the room, the rest of the planet, has dropped away and faded to black, leaving nothing but her dad and this terrible piece of news. It’s the exact same sensation she felt when Hammond told her about her mom’s car accident just over two months ago. She swallows and squints her eyes at him and says, “What?”

 

“Lymphoma,” he says, by way of explanation.

 

Sam blinks. “That’s bad.”

 

Her dad gives her a wry smile. “Well, it's not good. But it's not the worst. Don't you worry. I'll be around for a while.” He’s trying to hard to come across as tough, as nonchalant, even, like he’s too much of a soldier to be bothered by cancer, by death.

 

It isn’t lost on her that he hasn’t mentioned the possibility of recovery. Sam knows that sometimes, remission is something to aim for, and other times the goal is simply to buy as much time as you can against the inevitable.

 

“How long have you known?” It’s a loaded question and they both know it, though Sam can’t find it in herself to worry about playing it cool right now.

 

“A couple of months.”

 

Sam takes a deep breath in and out. “Did mom know?” she asks quietly. She doesn’t know why this makes a difference at all, but for some reason, she’s desperate to know.

 

Jacob turns away and shakes his head. “I was going to tell her,” he says. His gaze returns to the window, where he looks out at the Washington Monument across the street. “I’d just found out… I thought it would be better to do it in person.”

 

Sam’s hand flies up to cover her mouth in surprise as she struggles to take in this new information. She thinks of her dad that week after her mom died, at the funeral, at the house, all that lashing out, all that anger…

 

“Oh, god,” she says. “Dad!” She steps in front of him and pulls him into a hug, this one completely different from their awkward and staged hug downstairs at the reception earlier.

 

But honest displays of affection have never been Jacob’s strong suit, and after a moment, he pulls back from her embrace and pats her gamely on the shoulders. “I was hoping to stick around long enough to see you become an astronaut.”

 

Sam blinks back tears and swallows hard. He’s still talking, going on like he did before, about how nothing could be better than NASA, except now he actually has the audacity to tie it to his cancer, to the fact that he’s dying. “I admit it,” he says. “I want to see you fulfill your life's dreams before I die.”

 

“But it’s my dream,” Sam hears herself say. “Doesn’t that make it up to me?” Why can’t he trust her? What more does she need to do to prove herself to him? Even an Air Medal isn’t enough.

 

“Parents have dreams too,” he says. “Maybe someday you’ll understand.”

 

Is he going to drag Amy into this now too? Sam wants to slug him, she wants to hold him close, she wants to scream at him, and most of all, she wants to cry. In fact, she’s pretty sure she won’t be able to hold back the tears much longer. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I can’t…”

 

“All right,” he says, grabbing his coat off the back of a chair. “Like I said, this thing's going to go on for months, so you don't have to check up on me tomorrow.” He turns and starts walking out of the room. “Oh, and your brother still isn’t speaking to me,” he says. “You can tell him about the cancer thing, if you want.”

 

It’s as shocking as it is totally, totally predictable. All she ever wanted was for her dad to be proud of her, and he knows it. After all these years, together and apart, he knows just exactly how to hurt her. She would probably know just how to hurt him too, if she ever wanted to.

 

But as she watches him walk away, she remembers the scared, angry man at her mom’s funeral, working hardest to provoke the worst fights with the people he needed the most desperately. She’s not going to let him do that again, not now. Carters are stubborn by nature, and Jacob sets the bar, but Sam can be pretty damn stubborn too. She makes up her mind and chases after him.

 

“Dad,” she says, grabbing his arm as they both enter the hallway. “Stop it.” She’s crying now, actual tears, but she can’t bring herself to care.

 

Her dad turns and looks at her, his face a mixture of surprise and guilt. He looks all of a sudden to Sam like a child who’s been caught throwing a tantrum. She thinks of Amy and her toothbrushes and her Nana’s death. This is about Sam becoming an astronaut, but it’s also not about that at all.

 

So Sam takes a deep breath in and out. “Where are you being treated?” she asks through her tears. Even if they don’t hope to cure him, they will at least treat him.

 

Jacob swallows. “At the Academy Hospital.”

 

Sam wipes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. “You’ve been in town?”

 

Jacob shrugs. “A couple times.”

 

“I didn’t know,” she says. “You didn’t… why didn’t you come home? Or call?”

 

Jacob looks away. “I stayed at a hotel by the hospital,” he says. Sam starts to jump in and say that he should’ve come to the house, but he holds up his hands to stop her. “Sam, with or without you and Amy, that house right now, it’s just… it was easier to stay at a hotel.”

 

Well. Sam understands that feeling. She can also understand Jacob wanting to keep the cancer part of his life far away from the time box of otherwise happy memories at the house.

 

And while it hurts that he was in Colorado Springs and didn’t even get in touch with her, that he waited until this, here, to tell her he was dying, she reminds herself again that she’s not going to let him push her away. She’s not going to let him pick a fight, and she’s not going to pick one back. She squares her shoulders and sticks out her chin. “When’s your next appointment?” she says, her voice a little steadier than before, her tears slowing.

 

“Why?” he says, making a face.

 

“I could come.”

 

“You don’t have to do that.” He rubs his hand over his forehead like he’s annoyed, or maybe just tired. Sam doesn’t let it deter her.

 

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” she says. “But you shouldn’t have to go alone.” _Mom would’ve gone with you,_ she thinks, though she doesn’t dare say that part out loud.

 

“Ok,” Jacob says after a breath. “I’ll check. I’ll let you know.”

 

“Good,” she replies. She hopes he really does. “And call Mark, ok?”

 

Jacob lets his eyes fall closed and drops his head. “I’ll try that too.”

 

Sam takes him in, his overcoat hanging on his arm, his dress suit hanging off his shoulders, his eyes so tired. She can’t imagine the world without him. Feeling the tears start to come again, she pulls him into another hug.

 

“I love you, dad,” she says.

 

“I love you too, Sammie,” he replies, and they stand there, father and daughter, in the hallway on the third floor of the Air Force building.

 

“You going home tonight?” he says when they finally pull apart.

 

“Yeah,” Sam replies. The Air Force had offered to put them up in a hotel, but she hates being away from Amy more than she has to, and as for the Colonel, she suspects he’s happy to get the hell out of DC as fast as possible, no matter the reason.

 

“Have a good flight,” he says, and he gives her a smile, a kind smile, the way he smiles in her memories of him from when she was young.

 

“I’ll see you soon, ok?” she says.

 

“Ok,” he agrees with a nod. With great effort, she turns to walk away, but then she hears him call her name. “Sam?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Congratulations on the medal,” he says with sincerity. “I’m sure you deserve it.”

 

—

 

But it doesn’t take months, it takes weeks, just two weeks. He doesn’t call her about his next appointment, he doesn’t call Mark, it all happens so quickly. They’re barely into December when the call comes through from the Academy Hospital.

 

SG-1 is about to embark on a mission to find the Tok’ra. Sam knows she’s been valuable to the program in the past, but this is the first mission where she’s literally irreplaceable. The Tok’ra might be the most important ally Earth ever makes, and she knows from what little she’s recovered of Jolinar’s memories that they will speak to no one less than her, the only one among them who’s ever known a Tok’ra.

 

So she hangs up the phone and looks at General Hammond. She’s geared up, ready to go, the rest of her team is waiting for her. “Sir,” she can’t help but say, “this is the first time I've left on a mission where I've felt like I might be leaving something behind.”

 

He nods in understanding, he looks almost relieved that she said something. It would be out of line for him to use intel he has as a personal friend of the family to preemptively pull her from the mission, but now that she’s brought it up, he’s free to act. “I’ll assign a temporary replacement,” he says, but Sam just shakes her head. If he does that, the mission will fail. Deep down, he knows that too.

 

So she joins her team in the gate room, walks through the event horizon, and hopes that by some miracle, her dad will still be there whenever she gets back.

 

—

 

Jack thought of Jacob Carter right away when the Tok’ra said they were looking for hosts. It took Sam Carter a little bit longer to make the connection, but then, she’s been busy pretty much commanding his entire mission. Jack is a little bit annoyed, but he’s also not annoyed, because it makes sense, really, and part of being a good commander is maintaining a team that you trust and knowing when to step back and let them do their thing. Still, he wouldn’t mind terribly if she at least consulted him first on some of these things.

 

So they get the Tok’ra to let Carter and himself go back through the gate to fetch Jacob Carter, their potential new host. Carter dials the DHD and enters their IDC, but before they go through the event horizon, he steps in front of her and puts both his hands on her arms, forcing her to look him in the eye.

 

“Carter,” he says firmly. “Are you sure about this?” He wasn’t going to question her in front of Garshaw and Martouf and the others, but now that it’s just them, he needs to know. More importantly, he needs her to think about it.

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, though it sounds more automatic than sincere.

 

“I know your mom just died,” he says, and she flinches. It’s somewhat more blunt than he would usually be, but it’s less blunt than slapping her across the face, which he thinks maybe is what she needs right now. She’s got this frantic look in her eyes, like she’ll do anything to make this mission work, anything to keep her dad alive. Desperation can inspire even the brightest Captain Doctors to make profoundly horrible decisions.

 

“Sir?” she says. She looks confused now. Good. Maybe that big brain of hers will kick into gear.

 

“This won’t give you your dad back,” he says. “It might keep him alive, but it won’t be the same, you _know_ that,” he says. She of all people should know that.

 

Her jaw drops just a little bit, she’s staring at him, because he’s just brought up her dead mom, her dying father, and Jolinar all in the span of a couple sentences. But he needs her to really think about this.

 

“This is better than nothing,” she insists.

 

“Is it?” he asks. He’s not saying he disagrees. But god, this is a really big thing to propose.

 

“I want to give him the choice,” she says fervently. “If I can’t… I just… I need to try. I _need_ to. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”

 

Jack nods and releases her arms. “Ok,” he says. She looks momentarily surprised at his acquiescence, but then she nods too and turns to the gate. “Let’s do this,” he says.

 

—

 

Jack stands at attention outside the room at the Academy Hospital. Carter is in there with her dad, and General Hammond is in there too, to give credence to Carter’s story and to help address Jacob’s questions, of which Jack is sure there will be many. They’d all agreed without much discussion that it would probably be best for Jack himself to wait out in the hall.

 

He can’t make out any words, but he can hear their voices - Carter’s is excited but steady, Hammond’s is soft and careful, and Jacob interjects sometimes quite loudly. There’s a little bit of laughter, which he thinks is a good sign.

 

Jack just can’t imagine what this moment must be like for Carter. He wishes he could see the look on her face as she finally tells her dad what it is that she really does.

 

After about 10 minutes, which in Jack’s opinion is not long at all, considering the magnitude of what they’re offering him, what they’re asking him to do, he hears shuffling around in the room, and he steps to the side. Moments later, the door opens, and there’s Carter, looking pleased and hopeful, Hammond, looking a little uncomfortable, and Jacob, who looks up at Jack abruptly and locks his gaze. The man himself appears frail and weak, but his eyes are as sharp as ever, and Jack of all people would know.

 

“We’re going ahead, sir,” Carter says to him. “They’re bringing a wheelchair around and we’ll transport back to Cheyenne Mountain and on from there as soon as possible.”

 

“Good,” Jack says with a crisp nod.

 

Jacob’s eyes have still not left his. Jack blinks a little under the scrutiny but tries not to squirm. After what feels like forever, Jacob sticks out a hand. “Jack,” he says.

 

Jack takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “General,” he replies.

 

“Call me Jacob,” he says, and Jack has to make a real effort not to fall over. It is by far the friendliest exchange they have ever had.

 

At that moment, a nurse comes around the corner with a wheelchair for Jacob. Jack finds it ironic that this man who is too ill to cross the parking lot will soon cross the galaxy, but he keeps that thought to himself.

 

“Ok,” Jacob says. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He sits down in the wheelchair and starts off on the last greatest journey of his life.

 

—

 

Jacob meets the Tok’ra Selmak and agrees to their crazy plan to blend with her, but like everything in life, it’s all in the timing, because the Goa’uld have chosen that very moment to attack. Carter and Martouf stay behind with Jacob, who’s still unconscious as this blending thing happens, while Jack and the rest of SG-1, along with Garshaw of the Tok’ra, escape through the Stargate to the SGC.

 

And then they wait. Jack tries his best to keep his cool in front of their guests, but he really, really doesn’t like the thought that he left one of his own behind. Fortunately, it’s not too long before SG-1’s IDC comes through and Carter, Martouf, and Jacob come crashing through the gate.

 

It is weird, to say the least, to hear Jacob Carter talk like a Goa’uld. Then Selmak lets Jacob talk. He looks like Carter’s dad, he sounds like Carter’s dad, but he’s doing something Jack has not ever seen him do before: he’s smiling.

 

They’re there for all of about a minute and a half, and then Garshaw dials up new coordinates and they disappear again, back through the event horizon to some new planet, and then another, and then another, until they can feel safe enough again to establish their new home, which even then will only ever be temporary.

 

Jack wonders what Jacob must be feeling. He woke up this morning thinking he was about to die, and he’s going to bed tonight with a parasitical alien in his head, albeit a friendly one, and a perspective on the universe that’s profoundly and terrifyingly new. Jack wonders how it will all feel when the adrenaline wears off. He thinks Jacob will probably miss his wife.

 

Then he turns and looks at Carter, who’s still gazing at the inactive Stargate. She found the Tok’ra. She saved her dad, and then she lost him again too, sort of. It certainly doesn’t help matters that he had to leave so quickly.

 

Jack approaches her slowly and stands next to her, his hands in his pocket, facing the gate just like she is. “Well,” he says, “that was a piece of cake.”

 

She gives a small smile but doesn’t look away from the gate, and he can’t quite get a read on her. He wants to lean just a bit to the side and nudge her shoulder, because usually that gets her to open up a little, but he thinks that here in the middle of a busy gate room, maybe he’d better not. So instead he relents and just asks, “You ok?”

 

She turns and faces him then, and meets his gaze. She looks ok, actually.

 

“He said he was proud of me,” she says. Jack can’t help but raise his eyebrows a little - this is not what he was expecting her to say. “Back in the tunnels,” she explains. “Before the blending. He said that even when he thought I worked in satellites, he was proud. I never knew.”

 

Jack nods and blows out a breath. They’ll deal with the logistics later - like what, exactly, is Jacob’s cover story going to be, and what the hell are they going to tell Carter’s brother? - but for now, this is enough. “You did good today, Captain,” he says.

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 


	19. Spirits

One week after Jacob disappears through the Stargate with his new Tok’ra best friends, and two weeks before Christmas, there’s an unscheduled off-world activation at the SGC.

 

Jack is surprised to see the iris code they gave the Tok’ra come through. He’d gotten the impression from Garshaw that it would be a while before the Tok’ra were interested in dropping in on Earth again. He looks over at Carter, sitting at the controls; she seems surprised too.

 

Sure enough, they open the iris, and nothing happens, no one comes through, and the wormhole deactivates. “Nice to see you too,” Jack says sarcastically to the empty Stargate, but everyone else in the control room is staring at the computer monitor, which looks like it got possessed by a ghost.

 

“Captain, what’s going on?” General Hammond asks urgently as numbers and letters and symbols fly past them, and Jack braces himself, because he doesn’t know a lot about computers, but that looks like a virus. The Tok’ra could’ve been compromised, or maybe they were playing them all along. A snake is still a snake, after all.

 

But Carter doesn’t seem to share their alarm. “I think I know,” she says. The scrolling numbers stop abruptly and the screen goes blank, and she hits a few keys to bring up a simple command prompt line. Then she hits a few more keys and some lines of code pop up, honestly, Jack doesn’t know how she does anything on this computer without a mouse, but she seems to be very much on top of it. With a smile, she spins her chair around and looks at them. “It was a data burst,” she says. “It’s from my dad.”

 

“Jacob?” the General says in surprise.

 

“It’s highly encrypted,” Carter continues, “but -”

 

“But you can open it,” Jack supplies.

 

Carter grins as she turns back to the computer. “I think I can.”

 

—

 

The data burst contains zipped folders for Hammond and for Sam, and then a letter for each of the other members of SG-1. Hammond seemed initially hopeful that the burst would contain more strategically useful information - schematics for weapons, a list of the Tok’ra’s ongoing undercover operations, things like that - but a quick review of its contents reveals data of a more personal nature, so Hammond orders SG-1 to review what they’ve received and check back in at 1300. They disperse.

 

Sam takes careful, measured steps down the corridors of the SGC, trying to project an air of casual professionalism. But she can barely contain her anticipation. Once safely enclosed in her lab, she whips open her laptop and unzips the folder designated for her. Inside are several files, but her eyes snap to the first one, a document simply named “To Sam.” She opens it.

 

> _My dear Sam,_
> 
> _You of all people know how much I hate admitting I was wrong, but even I can’t get around it this time. You were right, kid. NASA’s got nothing on the Stargate Program. Holy Hannah, were you right._
> 
> _I’m sorry we had to leave in such a rush last week, and I’m sorry I left things such a mess. There’s a lot of stuff that needs taking care of when a person relocates to an undisclosed location on a different planet, and I didn’t have time to do any of it. Fortunately, George has the authority to execute most of what needs to be done on my behalf, and I've sent him paperwork and instructions to work with my lawyer._
> 
> _The house is yours. I know you’ll take good care of it. Your mother loved that house, and one of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t spend more time there with her than I did._
> 
> _But make it your own, will you? Move into the master bedroom. Paint the walls, redo the kitchen, get your own furniture out of storage, do whatever you want to do. All I ask is that you save me a spot on the couch when I’m back in town._
> 
> _Speaking of which, it looks like it’s going to be a while before I can visit the Tau’ri again. I’ve put a letter in here for Mark, and if it’s not too much trouble, I’d be grateful if you could pass it along. Obviously, he and I have a lot more to talk about than can be said in a short letter, but since I haven’t spoken to him since your mother’s funeral and now I’m more out of reach than ever, I thought this would be a little better than nothing. Read it, if you want. It doesn’t say much, but it would probably be good for us to be on the same page with our cover story. You didn’t actually tell them you work in radars, did you?_
> 
> _I know you’ve probably been worrying about me, but don’t. Selmak is taking good care of me, and the rest of the Tok’ra are starting to get used to me too._
> 
> _I meant what I said at the Tok’ra base, back before the blending. I wish I could say more, but you know words aren’t really my thing. I’m proud of you. Your mother was always, always proud of you. I hope you know that._
> 
> _I love you, kiddo. Kiss that little girl of yours for me._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _Dad_

 

She reads the letter twice, then leans back in her chair, closes her eyes and feels a weight off her shoulders, a weight she’d been carrying around ever since she first heard of the Tok’ra.

 

—

 

SG-1 meets for lunch before their debriefing with Hammond regarding this data burst from Jacob Carter, though given what Jack’s seen so far, he doesn’t think it’ll be much of a meeting. Jacob did send along some background information on the Tok’ra, their main objectives and their basic ideals, things that are nice to know but not terribly useful from a strategic perspective. But he didn’t send much else.

 

The commissary is serving grilled cheese and tomato soup today, and as commissary lunches go, this one is not bad. Jack gets a large soup, three sandwiches, and a brownie from the dessert table.

 

“Can I ask what your letters from my dad said?” Carter says hesitantly, poking at the tuna sandwich on her plate. Jack doesn’t know why anyone would get tuna when they could have grilled cheese, but she’s always had her own ways of doing things.

 

“Oh, you know,” Daniel says, “nice to meet you, thanks for saving my life, if you ever let anything happen to Sam, I’ll hunt you down and kill you, stuff like that.”

 

Carter looks horrified. “Really?”

 

Daniel shrugs but smiles. “It was about what I would’ve expected.”

 

“The sentiment of my letter was the same as Daniel Jackson’s,” Teal’c adds.

 

They all turn to Jack. “Yours too, sir?” Carter asks him.

 

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “More or less.”

 

—

 

Later, alone in his office, he opens his letter from Jacob Carter again. There’s the not so thinly veiled threat on his life, like Daniel and Teal’c had too, apparently, but that wasn’t all he said.

 

> _Jack,_
> 
> _I need to ask you a favor. This is my kids’ first Christmas without their mother, and I know they’re both adults and they can handle it, but Jane has always been the one to hold the holidays together for our family. Sam understands why I’ll be a no-show this year, but Mark won’t, and things are not so good between us right now as it is. Could you pick up something for his two boys and put my name on the tag? It doesn’t have to be anything big, I just want them to have something to open that’s from me, and for some reason none of the stuff I’ve run into so far as an off-world under-cover operative seems to fit the bill._
> 
> _I know we didn’t really get off on the right foot, and I know this is a lot to ask, but my late wife once told me you’d gotten to know the family somewhat, so I’m hoping you can pull this off. Let’s just say I’ll owe you big time._
> 
> _Though if you ever let anything happen to my little girl, I will find you. The Tok’ra have ships, you know._
> 
> _Best,_
> 
> _Jacob Carter_

 

So, more _more_ than less.

 

Jack considers his letter. He agrees with Jacob that this is a worthy pursuit, and he furthermore acknowledges that Jacob needs someone on the inside to pull this off for him. Of course, there are only so many people Jacob can go to for help. There’s Daniel or Teal’c, but they would likely be terrible at it. There’s Carter herself, but it would be too much of a burden for her. And then there’s Hammond, butJacob of all people would understand that Hammond doesn’t have time to run someone else’s Christmas errands, no matter how close a friend. That just leaves Jack.

 

Jack does have the time. And he has gotten to know the family, though he doesn’t allow himself more than a second or two to wonder what, exactly, Jane had told Jacob about him. Because honestly, the more Jack thinks about it, this is exactly up his alley. It’s going to be fun, even.

 

He shuts down his computer and packs up for the night, his mind already buzzing with ideas about what a six-year-old and almost three-year-old might really love for Christmas.

 

—

 

Sam and Amy spend Christmas Eve at Mark and Heather’s house. She can’t stand the idea of waking up on Christmas morning in her mom’s house without her mom. She didn’t put up a tree or anything. Even Mark seems to understand.

 

So she snuggles in next to Amy on the single bed they have in their guest room, the one Amy uses when SG-1 has overnight missions. Sam sleeps fitfully, when she sleeps at all, dreaming in turns of a life that wasn’t hers, and of parents she doesn’t have, not here anyway.

 

At least her dad is alive, she tells herself when she gets up in the middle of the night and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. When she gets back to the bedroom, she lays down on the floor with an extra blanket and tries to pretend that she’s off-world, camped out in territory that might possibly be a little bit hostile, and that the guys are keeping watch. It helps.

 

On Christmas morning, they wake up to another inch of snow on the ground. Sam stumbles into the kitchen to get some coffee - Mark’s got one of those coffee pots that’s on a timer, and while it’s totally bizarre for Sam to imagine a life predictable enough that you can set your coffee by it, she’s grateful that coffee is ready and waiting for her.

 

That’s when she sees it - an oversized cardboard box with a big red bow tied around it, sitting on the back porch just outside the sliding glass door, covered in an inch of snow, like everything else. It wasn’t there when she came down last night for water.

 

The box just says “Carters” on it in capital letters, and while she is undoubtedly a Carter, this isn’t her house, and she doesn’t think it’s her place to bring it inside. Still, she wonders.

 

She brings her coffee back upstairs and lets the rush of caffeine hit her system as she waits for Amy and everyone else to wake up. It doesn’t take long. Soon, they’re all barreling down the stairs together, the kids leading the way as the adults smile and laugh behind them. Sam’s melancholy mood from the night before is forgotten as Amy, Gus and Kyle’s faces light up at the sight of the Christmas tree surrounded by presents that weren’t there last night.

 

The kids are about to dive in, Heather is putting a pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven and Mark is making another pot of coffee when he spots the box. “Hey,” he says, stepping around the counter to the sliding door. “What could this be?” It’s the kind of thing a parent might say when trying to stage a surprise for their kids, but Sam thinks that his surprise is genuine. Mark has never been one for faking it.

 

The three kids run over to the window. “It has our name on it,” Kyle says.

 

“Maybe it’s from Santa!” Gus shouts, literally jumping up and down.

 

“Why would Santa put this box outside when he put all the other boxes inside?” Kyle asks, and it occurs to Sam that he’s at an age where he’s starting to think a little more critically about the mechanics of the whole Santa thing.

 

“Go get it!” Amy shouts. Like Gus, she’s jumping. “Let’s open it! Let’s open it!”

 

So Mark goes outside, brushes the snow off the sizable box, and hefts it through the door. He pulls off the ribbon and opens it up, and inside are a bunch of smaller presents, each wrapped in shiny red paper.

 

“They’re from Santa!” Amy shouts with glee.

 

“No,” Mark says, frowning a little in confusion as he takes one of the presents out of the box and looks at the tag. Then he looks up at Sam. “They’re from dad.”

 

Sam can’t help the gasp that escapes her, because how could this be? He had to open a wormhole from another planet to send that data burst a couple weeks ago, how could he possibly send a box full of presents? She walks over to the box and lifts out one of the gifts. The tag is typed out, actually, so it doesn’t have his handwriting on it. This one is for Amy.

 

She finally looks back at Mark, and she’s sure the shock is evident on her face as plainly as it is on his. “I don’t know how this is possible,” she says. She’s mostly avoided talking to Mark about their dad, though she did give him his letter last night.

 

“Well,” Mark says, a small smile spreading across his face as he takes in all the presents, both in the box and under the tree. “I think we should get to it, don’t you guys?”

 

—

 

Santa seems to have gone overboard this year, perhaps somehow trying to compensate for everything the kids have recently lost. Present-opening stretches well into the afternoon, both because of the sheer volume of gifts and because the kids always want to play with whatever they just opened before moving on to the next one.

 

Grandpa seems to have gone overboard too. Each of the kids gets three gifts from him, a toy, a hooded sweatshirt, and a book. They don their sweatshirts immediately - Kyle’s has an airplane on it, Gus’s has a monkey and Amy’s, a rocket ship, which Sam finds hilarious - and they look adorable in them, with their Christmas pajamas sticking out underneath and piles of wrapping paper all around. The sweatshirts fit each of them just fine, and Sam is surprised and really quite impressed that her dad knew what sizes to get everyone.

 

There are presents for the adults too - a nice pair of leather gloves for Mark, which he seems to actually like, and for Heather and Sam, gift cards for a manicure at a salon downtown, which Sam has never been to but has heard is really nice.

 

Sam sits on the floor and looks around the room with a smile, taking in the family Christmas scene. It’s been a long, long time since she has believed in Santa Claus, a long time since she felt the awe and joy of a child on Christmas morning, marveling at the bounty of gifts she didn’t even know she was hoping for. For once, she’s not at all interested in trying to figure out how it happened, she’s just content to know _that_ it happened. Her mom would’ve really loved today, she thinks.

 

“Maybe we could get manicures together,” Heather says with an excited smile. “Let Mark watch the kids himself for a few hours.”

 

Sam smiles back as Amy plops down in her lap. That does sound nice, actually. A manicure is not at all the kind of gift Sam would’ve thought she’d want, but for some reason, the idea of being pampered and girly, even for just a short while, sounds really nice after the couple of months she’s had.

 

She thinks about her their last mission, a week earlier - her first command, no small thing. The mission was to PXY-887 and it seemed to go fine, until it went terribly wrong through no fault of Sam’s when the apparently invisible spirit friends of the Salish tribe tried to take out the SGC for their actually quite reprehensible plan to mine trinium without the native peoples’ consent. Sam herself performed perfectly and the mission was a total failure. It goes that way sometimes, she knows, and it sucks. Yep, she decides. Maybe a manicure is maybe just exactly what she needs.

 

“Or I know what,”Amy says, already flipping through the new book Grandpa got her. “You can go Saturday, and I can go to Jack’s house.”

 

Sam looks up only long enough to see Heather’s surprised face, and then looks back down at Amy. It was bound to come up eventually, she supposes. “That could work too,” Sam replies, and then, in an effort to keep Heather from asking any questions, she offers, “You want me to read you that new book?” Of course, Amy does.

 

—

 

Jack is more than happy to host an SG-1 plus Fraisers day-after-Christmas lunch on the 26th. He makes a big pot of chili and a double batch of cornbread and plays campy Christmas music while everyone eats.

 

Janet and Cassie have made sugar cookies in the shapes of Christmas trees and wreaths and snowmen and stuff, and they brought about fifty pounds of powdered sugar, along with food coloring and sprinkles. After lunch, Janet quickly whips up some sugar frosting, separates it into half a dozen different bowls and colors them differently. SG-1 proceeds to decorate Christmas cookies. Apparently this is somewhat of a hallowed tradition in the extended Fraiser family.

 

Daniel, of course, can’t help but share some factoids on the origin of Christmas tree decorating as he shakes pink sprinkles onto the tree-shaped cookie he just frosted green. Teal’c decorates himself a gingerbread Jaffa, with a squiggly Christmas tree on its forehead instead of a mark of one of the System Lords. Carter seems to be spending most of her time trying to keep Amy from simply eating spoonfuls of frosting, and to be fair, the little girl has churned out a fair amount of creatively-decorated, heavily-frosted cookies. Cassie is helping Amy too, and while she’s more permissive with the frosting than Carter herself, Cass does keep a tight watch on the sprinkles.

 

Jack can’t help but smile as he takes a bite out of one of the tree cookies Daniel decorated. This is the first time in a long time he’s intentionally done anything festive for Christmas, and he wasn’t quite sure how it would go for him. But this is so unlike anything he’d ever done with his family that it’s perfect. He’ll have to remember to thank Janet later.

 

And Amy and Cassie look like they’re in heaven, surrounded by friends and Christmas decorations and sugar. That alone makes all this worth it for Jack.

 

After cookie decorating, they move down to the living room for presents. It’s Cassie’s first Christmas ever, and Amy’s first Christmas without her grandma - only her third overall - so the moms didn’t even bother trying to tell the guys not to get them anything. Besides, it’s just too much fun to watch kids open gifts at Christmas.

 

When it’s over, everyone is collecting their jackets and boots and starting to make their way out to their cars. Amy is in Carter’s arms, her head on her mom’s shoulders, her eyes drifting shut. Jack glances at his watch, it’s a solid hour later than she usually goes down for her nap.

 

“You want to just put her in the guest room for a couple hours?” Jack offers. She’s slept there before, plenty of times.

 

Carter bites her lip, and he can practically see her doing the calculations in her head. It seems highly probable that Amy will fall asleep in the car on the way home, or maybe even on the walk across the driveway to the car. It’s possible but unlikely that she’ll either stay asleep for a transition into her own house, or take a longer, second nap once settled inside. It all comes down to whether Carter can keep her awake in the car so that she doesn’t have a mini car-nap that spoils a later, proper nap, which she obviously desperately needs.

 

But Carter looks tired too, and Jack suspects that this season of merriment has been more than a little draining, even if there have hopefully been some good moments too. And she’s probably not exactly looking forward to going back to a house where someone you love is conspicuously absent. He knows the feeling.

 

“You can help me clean up while she sleeps,” he suggests, and as he suspected, this seals the deal.

 

“Ok,” she says. “Thanks.” She carries Amy off to the guest bedroom and is back in less than five minutes.

 

Together, they survey the house. It’s a mess. There’s wrapping paper everywhere, frosting everywhere, packaging everywhere, corn bread crumbs everywhere.

 

“I might need a beer to help me clean,” Jack says.

 

Carter nods. “Yeah,” she says, “me too, sir.”

 

They nurse their beers slowly while picking things up, and then Jack loads the dishwasher and finishes up in the kitchen while Carter vacuums the living room and the dining room. When he’s done, he emerges from the kitchen with two more beers as she’s wrapping the cord around the vacuum cleaner. He holds one out to her, but she looks hesitant.

 

“Amy’s going to be down for at least another hour,” he says. He can tell by the way she’s looking at him that she wants that beer. He’s only trying to help. “Probably two.”

 

She shakes her head with a small smile and he pops open the beers. Together, they sink down onto the couch and put their feet up on the coffee table. Jack turns on the TV and flips to the football game, though he’s not all that interested. He’s got something to talk to her about.

 

“How did things go yesterday?” he asks.

 

“Mmm,” she hums, sipping her beer with a thoughtful smile. “Really well, actually.”

 

Jack is glad to hear that, his own contributions to the Carter Family Christmas notwithstanding. She deserved to have a nice holiday with her family, and these things can be so hard when you’ve just lost someone.

 

“The strangest thing happened,” she says, sitting up a little bit. “My dad sent presents. For all of us. I have no idea how he did that.”

 

Jack clears his throat. He’s always planned to come clean with her about his role in executing her dad’s Christmas plans, though perhaps not about the extent to which he contributed to the overall vision. She’s smart enough to figure out that Jacob must have had an accomplice Earth-side, and Jack doesn’t ever want her to think he’s trying to sneak one past her, even a nice thing like this. They’re teammates, after all. They need to trust each other. “About that…” he says, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“He got the nicest gifts too,” she muses. “Really thoughtful things. He got Amy a sweatshirt with a rocket ship on it. You’ve got it see it. It’s hilarious.”

 

Ok, maybe she hasn’t figured out the accomplice part, yet, but once she emerges from this holiday-stress-induced haze she will, or she would’ve. Jack reaches under the coffee table. “There’s one more for you and Amy too,” he says, pulling out a shirt box wrapped in shiny red paper.

 

Carter’s hand flies to her mouth and her eyes mist over. “You, sir?” she says in a whisper.

 

“Though this one is more from your mom, really,” he says. “I thought you might not want to open it in front of Mark.”

 

She’s just staring at him, her blue eyes wide and her hand still over her mouth.

 

Jack decides to back up a bit. “Your dad asked for my help figuring out some of the logistics for his plans for you guys for Christmas,” he tries.

 

“The big box,” she whispers, her eyes darting to side with this realization and then snapping back to his. “Oh my god.”

 

“Practical and fun,” he says, trying for jovial, but she’s still looking shell-shocked.

 

She seems to just now notice the present in his hand. “And this one?” she says tentatively. “From my mom? But how?”

 

Jack nudges her knee with his and smiles. “Open it,” he says.

 

She removes the wrapping paper much more slowly and carefully than is necessary and takes the lid off the shirt box. Inside are two t-shirts, one a child small and another an adult medium, with the Ohio State logo emblazoned in red on the front. Carter gasps, then notices the envelope tucked under the shirts. It’s two tickets to see the UC Denver Pioneers women’s team play the Ohio State Buckeyes in Denver on a Thursday afternoon in January. Her hand flies back up to her mouth and she blinks rapidly.

 

“I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of checking with your boss, and he said it would be ok for you to take that day off.” It’s meant to be funny, because, of course, he’s her boss, but she just sits there, starting at the tickets in her hand, and then she begins to cry.

 

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly. After a moment’s hesitation, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his chest. “Come here,” he says. She leans into him, resting her head on him and crying quietly while he rubs her hair and rocks them back and forth ever so slightly.

 

For all the time they’ve spent together these last few months since her mom died, this is the first time she’s just leaned on him and cried.

 

He’d been excited to give her this present. In fact, he’s had this in mind for her and Amy since shortly after Jane died, and Jacob’s request for help with Christmas presents gave him the perfect opening. But he completely failed to anticipate this level of an emotional response. He feels a little bit like an idiot.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t have to go. It was just an idea.”

 

She sniffles, as if trying to collect herself. “It’s perfect,” she says. “How did you know?”

 

“You forget,” Jack replies, “your mom and I spent a lot of time together.”

 

He feels her nod against his shoulder. “I do forget,” she says. She sniffles once more and then pulls away, flopping against the back of the couch with a sigh. “I’m sorry I cried, sir,” she says.

 

“Hey,” he says. “You’ve had a hell of a year.”

 

She nods, picks up her beer and takes another sip. A hell of a year, but things are looking up for her, Jack thinks. He’s just got a feeling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm going out of town for most of next week (camping, actually - no AO3, no internet, no electricity, you know), so it might be more than a week before the next chapter gets posted, FYI. Hopefully we're leaving things on a good note with how this chapter ends. ;)


	20. The Fifth Race

Jack stands next to Carter in her kitchen on a Saturday in January after Amy goes down for her nap, a Saturday after a Thursday basketball game in Denver. Amy had told him all about it over lunch. She’d thrown her own small bouncy ball around the room, showing him how the players dribbled and passed and shot baskets. She said what she liked the best was the noises and the colors and the running. Jack thinks Jane would’ve understood just what she meant.

 

Carter was quiet through Amy’s lunchtime recounting, and she’s quiet now. She’s gazing at the wall, of all things, but she looks thoughtful, not despondent, so at least there’s that.

 

“Do you see something on that wall I don’t see?” he asks finally. It’s very possible. Who knows what goes on in that brain of hers.

 

Carter looks down at her hands, resting on the kitchen counter. “Just thinking.”

 

“About what?” he asks softly. It sounds like they had a good time at the basketball game but it must’ve been emotional too. Maybe she needs to talk about it.

 

Carter looks back up the wall and nods to herself. “About painting.”

 

Ah. The house. _Her_ house, for the last month or so now. She should paint, he thinks, if she feels ready.

 

“I can help,” he says. “I love painting.”

 

She turns to him with a smile. “What do you want to bet Amy loves painting too?”

 

—

 

It’s frightening how easily they slip into one another’s lives, or at least, it should be.

 

It used to be that the Colonel would take Amy on Saturdays at 10, but then Sam started joining them sometimes, or they started joining her. Now it’s usually the three of them, together, on Saturdays.

 

And it used to be that they needed an excuse for their Saturdays together, some specific reason, an event, an outing. But now it’s like they need more of an excuse _not_ to get together, because most of the time, they get together for nothing at all. They hang out, they build forts, they play with playdoh, they run errands, they eat lunch. Together.

 

In fact, when circumstances conspire to keep them apart two Saturdays in a row - Gus’s third birthday party one weekend, and the Colonel’s spur-of-the-moment trip to the Ida galaxy the weekend after that - Amy puts up enough of a fuss that Sam takes the extraordinary step of inviting the Colonel, on Amy’s behalf, of course, to dinner on a Wednesday.

 

He accepts, and admits he’s been missing Amy too. When he arrives at their house that evening after work, Sam really isn’t sure which one of them is happiest to see the other. Apparently two weeks is a long time for a two-and-a-half year-old, and for an Air Force Colonel.

 

“Come play trains with me, Jack!” Amy shouts excitedly, already dragging him to the back of the house, towards the kitchen and the play room. Amy got a new train set for Christmas and she loves it, but she’s not quite old enough to have a lot of fun with it by herself. Fortunately for her, the Colonel seems more than happy to oblige.

 

Sam boils some spaghetti, heats up pre-made frozen meatballs in a store-bought sauce, and microwaves some frozen mixed veggies. It’s the epitome of a minimal-effort meal, but work has been draining, and he of all people would understand. They’re still trying to decipher what, exactly, the Colonel did while he had the Ancient Repository of Knowledge downloaded in his brain, and while progress is slow, Sam can’t help the buzz of excitement she feels at what they might learn from all this. She pushes from her mind thoughts of what might have happened if he hadn’t made it to the Asgard in time.

 

On the other side of the counter in the play room, Amy and the Colonel are deep into their trains. Sam usually spends dinner prep time gently rebuffing Amy’s attempts to play with her, but tonight, Amy is handing the Colonel wooden train track pieces and he’s assembling a route for her to run her trains along. This is nice, Sam thinks. This is better. For Amy.

 

Sam smiles at them as she drains the pasta and turns down the heat on the meatballs and sauce. A few minutes later, when she starts pulling plates and glasses from the cupboard, and forks and spoons from the drawer, the Colonel’s head snaps up. “Is it time to set the table?” he asks.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replies.

 

“Come on, Amy,” he says, tapping her arm and drawing her attention away from her trains. “Let’s help your mom.”

 

It’s never occurred to Sam before that Amy might be at an age where she can start helping set the table, or at least get in the habit of setting the table, whether or not it’s actually helpful for her to be involved. Sam watches with wonder as the Colonel hands her one piece of silverware at a time and instructs her where to put it.

 

The Colonel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that this dinner was mostly heated from frozen. He and Amy both plow through their spaghetti and meatballs first, and then Sam looks on as they both line up their mixed vegetables in patterns around the edges of their plates - cauliflower, broccoli, carrot, cauliflower, broccoli, carrot - and Amy eats them all without complaint. So does the Colonel.

 

At the Carter house, dinnertime usually rolls pretty quickly into bedtime, and tonight is no exception. “Can Jack put me to bed tonight?” Amy asks. She’s sitting on his lap, finishing the bowl of cantaloupe Sam sliced up for dessert.

 

“No,” Sam says quickly. “I do bedtime.” She smiles at Amy and reaches across the table to squeeze her daughter’s hand. Sam can roll with things, but for some arbitrary reason, the Colonel putting Amy to bed feels different from the Colonel putting Amy down for a nap. Maybe it’s because going to bed is something Sam does too.

 

“Can Jack help?”

 

Sam shoots him a quick glance before returning her gaze to Amy. “Sweetie -“ she starts, but he jumps in.

 

“I can’t,” he says. Sam breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ve got to do the dishes.”

 

“You do?” Amy says, and Sam nearly says it too. The prospect of someone else doing the dishes is too good to be true. They often eat lunch together on Saturdays, but they usually eat at a restaurant, or get take-out, or do something lunch-y and easy, something requiring very little prep or clean-up. But spaghetti with frozen meatballs, while not at all culinarily impressive, does produce a lot of dirty pots.

 

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s the rule. If your mom cooks, I have to do the dishes.” He shrugs, like there’s nothing he can do about it, and Amy concedes.

 

Sam usually doesn’t bother even clearing the table until after Amy is sleeping, so she and Amy head upstairs and do their bedtime thing. A half hour later, she comes back downstairs to a sparkling kitchen and a tidy play room. It feels a little bit like she won the lottery.

 

“Hey,” the Colonel says, standing up from the floor where he’d been putting the last of Amy’s crayons back into their box.

 

“Hey,” she replies. “Sir.”

 

And there they stand, in her kitchen, after dinner, after dark. Sam can’t help but remember the conversation she had with her mom not even a year ago right over there in that play room where he’s standing, the conversation that wasn’t - but also kind of was - about how good looking he is, because there’s something about him right now. He’s relaxed, he’s dressed in his civvies, he’s got a little bit of scruff from the day, and he looks way too sexy for someone she’s really, really not supposed to find sexy.

 

She’s been attracted to this man since the first day she met him, and she’s always done a good job of tucking that feeling away. Right now, like this, it’s harder. A lot harder.

 

“Thanks for coming tonight,” she manages to say. She gives herself a mental shake and tells herself she’d feel this way about anyone who’d just cleaned her kitchen.

 

He looks around, as if making sure he got everything. “I think Amy had fun,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says. Amy. He’s doing this for Amy, not to give her a chance to notice how sexy he is. “I think she did.”

 

He nods. “Good.”

 

He grabs his jacket off the back of a chair at the kitchen table, and Sam follows him to the door. He sticks his hands in his pockets and jingles his keys casually. “See you tomorrow, Carter,” he says.

 

“Bye, sir.” She lets out a breath as the door closes behind him.

 

—

 

The next Saturday rolls around and Jack and Amy are back on track with their standing 10:00 appointment. He takes her to an indoor playground, and then out to lunch at the diner by his house. Amy thinks their mac and cheese is heavenly, and Jack cannot disagree with her on that point. Carter has been joining them on Saturdays lately, but this week, she opted out.

 

“You know what it’s called when something is really, really good?” he says to her as he wipes the residual cheese off her face and hands after she’s done eating.

 

“What?” Amy asks. Already, this kid seems to be a genius, just like her mother. She’s months ahead of her age, maybe more, in terms of her language and conversational skills, and Jack thinks this is exactly the right time to start teaching her funny vocabulary.

 

“Heavenly,” Jack says. “If something’s really good, you say it’s heavenly.”

 

“Hmm,” Amy thinks for a moment. “Like my mac and cheese?” The trick with funny words for little kids is that the word has to have a simple meaning, and preferably one that’s relevant to their daily lives.

 

“Exactly,” Jack says. “Your mac and cheese was heavenly.”

 

“Heavenly,” Amy repeats, and Jack grins.

 

He takes her back home for her nap. She rubs her eyes with one hand as she gives her mom a hug with the other, and Jack and Carter share a smile. She wore herself out at that playground and stuffed herself at lunch. Nap time should be a breeze today. Yawning widely, Amy takes Jack’s hand and walks with him up the stairs to her room.

 

“Jack,” she says sleepily, after he’s read her a story, “why didn’t I go to your house last time I was supposed to go to your house?”

 

“Last Saturday?” he asks, and she nods. “Oh,” he says. “I was out of town.”

 

“Out of town?” She looks confused, like it hadn’t occurred to her that something more important than spending time with her might come up. Really, Jack’s impromptu trip to the Ida Galaxy wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time either, but it was unquestionably necessary. And it’s true that he’s had worse vacations.

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “It’s kind of a crazy story.”

 

Amy perks up instantly. “A story?” It’s like a trigger word for her. “Can you tell it to me?”

 

“Hm…” Jack says. “Well it all started on Monday at work, when I got this thing stuck in my head, kind of like… like a really big book, a book of all the books.”

 

Amy tilts her head to the side. “A library?”

 

“It was sort of like a library,” Jack allows.

 

“Stuck in your head?” Her little brow furrows in confusion. Jack has seen this exact look on her mother many times before. Recently, actually. Almost daily, come to think of it, and usually directed at him.

 

“Yeah,” Jack says with a shrug. “It was weird.” Weird, life-threatening, you know.

 

“Did it hurt?” Amy asks.

 

“It did,” Jack says. “I mean, it was kind of interesting, but the whole thing was so big and so heavy, I couldn’t really do anything. I couldn’t even see where I was going.”

 

“Wow,” Amy says, looking impressed, and Jack mentally congratulates himself. Her imagination outstrips even his craziest mission reports, so if he can impress her, then he must really be telling it right. “What did you do?”

 

“Well,” Jack says. “I had some friends who could help me, but they live really far away.”

 

“Out of town?” Amy asks, recalling his original reason for missing their Saturday playdate.

 

“Yeah, really far out of town,” Jack confirms.

 

“How far?” This from the girl who thinks the 10 minute walk from his house to the park is a real adventure trek.

 

“Super far,” he replies. “They live on…” well, what the hell, Jack thinks to himself. “They live on another planet.” Almost immediately, he regrets it. Locating this story on another planet, where it was, in fact, located, feels just a little too close to the actual truth. But maybe he can get away with it. Or maybe he can change the subject.

 

“Another planet?” Amy latches on, of course she does. He would too.

 

“Yep,” Jack says with a shrug, going for casual. “It’s very far away. You probably don’t know it.” Othala is not exactly on the list of planets kids learn about these days.

 

Amy gets a defensive look on her face. “I know some planets,” she says.

 

“Oh yeah?” Jack asks. “Like what?”

 

“Like…” she thinks for a moment. “Saturn.” Jack nods. It’s pretty impressive that she knows that, actually. “And the moon.”

 

“I do like the moon,” he says. Not exactly a planet, of course, but a celestial body. He’s not going to press the point. “You know,” he says. “If you like the moon, you should come see my telescope sometime. It’s on my roof.”

 

“On your roof?” Amy repeats, her eyes wide. Kids love when you have unexpected stuff on your roof.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s great. You can see the moon and other far away stuff.” You can see Saturn, actually, but he thinks the view of the moon might be a little more impressive for someone Amy’s age.

 

“But what _is_ a telescope?” Amy asks thoughtfully.

 

“It’s for seeing things that are far away,” Jack answers. His plan to divert her attention away from the story about his friends on another planet appears to be working.

 

“But what is a _micro_ scope?” This follow-up question would be surprising if Jack didn’t know her mom. Of course Sam Carter’s kid has at least heard the word microscope enough to recall it when she hears a similar word, even if she doesn’t know what it means.

 

“That,” Jack says, feeling pleased with himself for totally derailing his own story, “is for seeing tiny things up close.” He would welcome with open arms a discussion on microscopes right now, which is a first for him.

 

“Hm,” Amy says. “Did you take a rocket ship?”

 

“What?” Damn.

 

“To go to Saturn?” Amy asks.

 

“Oh,” Jack says, resigned. There’s nothing left now but to see this story through and hope she doesn’t bring it up again. He can be more careful next time. “No, not a rocket ship.” There are lots of ways one might describe travel by Stargate, but to call it a rocket ship, even in a story to a child, a story where he’s already maybe said too many things that are true, it just feels wrong, insulting, even. “I went through a special door and then down a long tunnel… thing.”

 

Amy considers this idea, space travel by tunnel. “And you found your friends?”

 

“Yep,” Jack confirms. “And they got the book thing off my head, and then I came home. But I’m sorry I missed you on Saturday.”

 

“I missed you too,” Amy says. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

 

“Me too,” Jack says. He honestly doesn’t remember a lick of it, but to hear the rest of his team tell it, it was a hell of an ordeal.

 

—

 

Before Sam knows it, it’s Wednesday again, and Amy asks her if the Colonel is coming over for dinner. Amy is a creature of habit, she thrives on routine. Sam silently curses Heather for ever teaching Amy the days of the week.

 

Amy had nightmares last night, and was up crying quite a few times. Heather let the kids watch Beauty and the Beast a couple days ago, and Amy says the Gaston parts are too scary for her. Sam thinks they’re a little too scary for herself, too. Amy looks at Sam now, her sleepy blue eyes lined with red, milk running down her chin as her Cheerios grow soggy in her bowl. “I think I need Jack to come over for Wednesday so I don’t have scary dreams tonight,” she says.

 

Sam doesn’t exactly follow this logic, but it’s so very hard to say no to Amy sometimes. “Ok,” she says. “I’ll check with him. But he might be busy.”

 

“Out of town?” Amy looks concerned.

 

“Probably not,” Sam reassures her. “But he might have other plans.”

 

“I don’t think probably,” Amy says with confidence.

 

Later, at the SGC, Sam does her best impression of casual and mentions to the Colonel that Amy had asked about him. And when he shows up that night in time for dinner, Sam takes a deep breath before she opens the door and lets him in. He’s her CO, but he’s also her friend, sort of. He’s Amy’s friend at least. Sam decides she can do this. She won’t call him Jack, she’ll keep things as professional as she can, but she won’t deny Amy this relationship, and she won’t drive herself nuts over it either. She might even let herself enjoy it. And she’ll do her very best not to find anything about him sexy.

 

Sam cooks up some green beans and heats up a frozen teriyaki chicken and rice thing she got at the store. Amy take a bite of her dinner and looks pointedly at Sam. “Mama,” she says, “my chicken is heavenly.” Sam looks up in surprise, because where would Amy have learned a word like that? Across the table from her, she sees the Colonel smirk.

 

And just like that, Saturdays together turn into Saturdays and Wednesday nights together. Sometimes Sam cooks, sometimes the Colonel brings a grocery bag of ingredients and cooks, sometimes they order out. They take turns playing with Amy, helping her help them set the table, making sure she washes her hands.

 

It should be frightening, how easily it happens, how quietly it sneaks into their lives and becomes normal, when it’s not normal at all to spend time like this with your commanding officer. But it doesn’t feel frightening, not one bit. It just feels really good.

 

The thing is, Sam realizes, it’s such a relief to have another adult moving around in the house again, especially on a weekday evening. It’s not that Sam _didn’t_ do household chores when her mom was alive; she did. Sam did laundry, she did grocery shopping, she washed dishes. But Jane did those things too. Now, if Sam doesn’t do them, they don’t get done.

 

Except on Wednesday nights. On Wednesday nights, things feel lighter, easier, freer. If she drops a jar of pasta sauce on the floor, he can clean it up while she finds something else to put on their spaghetti, and Sam doesn’t feel like such a colossal failure. If Amy refuses to eat her brussels sprouts, he can help talk her into giving it a try, and Sam doesn’t feel so completely exasperated. He can make funny faces and funny voices and instead of feeling like she’s about to blow her top, Sam finds herself laughing at the little brussels sprouts family he’s assembled on Amy’s plate. And Amy finds herself eating brussels sprouts.

 

It’s not long before they start taking turns with bedtime too. It’s Amy who points out, of course, that if the Colonel cooks dinner, Sam is obligated to do dishes. Rules are rules.

 

As the cold weather settles in and the snow piles up outside, Sam finds she looks forward to their Wednesdays as much as their Saturdays, maybe even more.

 

—

 

They paint Amy’s room yellow, and Sam hangs cheery, light blue curtains and gets a new bedspread that matches and has butterflies on it. Amy is delighted with her new room, and Sam is proud of herself for taking the first step toward making the house her own. They paint the kitchen area next, a calm, light sage green that looks nice in the playroom too. They work while Amy naps. The kitchen and playroom take a lot longer to paint than Amy’s room did, because they have to tape around all the cabinets and cupboards and outlets and windows and everything.

 

“What’s next?” the Colonel says as he folds up his drop cloths. He’d repainted his house when he bought it and he’s brought a lot of his own painting gear here - drop cloths, paint rollers, paint trays, things like that.

 

“Living room,” Sam says.

 

“What color?” he asks.

 

“Not paint,” she says. “Furniture.” She wants to get her own out of storage. Her parents’ couches are a lot nicer than hers, and she’s decided it might be best to tuck them away until Amy grows out of her current “color and spill on everything” phase.

 

“Ok,” he says gamely. “I can do furniture.”

 

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. It’s in his nature it is to be helpful, to try do some good, to make others’ lives easier when he can. But to say he’s been going above and beyond for her and Amy is an severe understatement. It sometimes feels like Sam is the CO and he’s the eager young Captain, bending over backwards to make a good impression. “We might have to call the guys in on this one,” she says.

 

He raises and eyebrow at her. “Exactly what are you trying to say, Captain?”

 

“That my furniture is heavy, sir,” she replies with a smirk.

 

He leaves his drop cloths and paint trays in a neat pile in the garage, along with an old pair of work shoes and a spare change of painting clothes. She tries not to think too much about that.

 

—

 

On a Friday night in late February, Colorado Springs gets hit with a massive snow storm. Jack wakes up early on Saturday morning, drinks a cup of coffee, and plows out his driveway. Then he comes inside, makes himself breakfast, drinks another cup of coffee, and loads his snow blower into the back of his pickup truck. He drives over to the Fraiser’s - the trip takes him twice as long as it would in normal conditions because most of the streets haven’t been cleared yet - and he plows them out too. He accepts a third cup of coffee from Janet and a hug from Cassie, then he loads his snow blower back into his truck and makes the short drive to Carter’s house.

 

By the time he’s finished plowing their driveway, Amy has emerged in a full snow ensemble, jacket and snow pants and boots and mittens and a hat with a big pom pom on top. She tromps over to Jack and he picks her up for a hug.

 

“You did a good job!” she says, motioning to the now-clear driveway.

 

“Well,” Jack says, also looking around and admiring his handiwork, “it’s not so hard when you’ve got the right implement.”

 

“Implement?” Amy says, and Jack grins. It’s just too easy with her.

 

“An implement is a tool,” Jack explains. “A specific tool that you use for a specific task. The implement I used to clear the snow out of your driveway is called a snow blower. See?” He points to his snow blower.

 

“Ooh,” Amy says. “Can I do it?”

 

“Nope,” Jack says. He’s pretty sure you have to be at least three feet tall to operate a snow blower, and Amy’s not quite there yet. “But we can make a snowman, if you want.”

 

“I want a snowman!” Amy says.

 

Jack’s kind of tired after plowing three driveways and he sure wouldn’t mind one more cup of coffee, but Amy is all ready to go, so they get to work on their snowman.

 

Not even a minute later, Carter emerges from the house. She’s fully outfitted for the snow too, and in her hands is travel mug with steam coming out of the top. She hands it to him with a smile and he takes a sip: coffee, nice and strong. He wonders whether or not he should be surprised that she knew exactly what he needed.

 

They play outside for over an hour, making a snowman and building a neighboring snow castle and throwing snowballs until their noses are red and their cheeks hurt from laughing. Then they go inside and bake brownies together - Jack doesn’t know who’s more surprised, himself or Amy, that Carter had a box of brownie mix in the house. They eat lunch while they brownies are baking and then they eat brownies with a big glass of warm milk each, and by the time Jack goes to put Amy down for a nap, he feels about ready for a nap himself.

 

Amy falls asleep easily and when he comes back downstairs, Carter is sitting on the couch, her feet tucked up under her and another mug of coffee in her hand. There’s a movie playing on TV, one Jack has seen before, and she’s flipping through what looks like some sort of scientific journal, with lots of big words in small print and very few pictures. The movie has Steve Martin in it and Jack remembers it being funny.

 

“I made more coffee,” she says. “I was about to fall asleep.”

 

Jack knows the feeling.

 

“Can I get you some?” she asks.

 

Jack looks around the room, thinks about Amy upstairs and their snowman outside and the brownies they made. He doesn’t really feel like going home quite yet.

 

“I can get it,” he says. He goes to the kitchen and fixes himself another cup of coffee, his last for the day. He’s not even all that interested in drinking it, but he’s pretty sure he’ll pass out soon without another jolt of caffeine. Then he pulls a plate out of the cupboard and puts two more brownies on it, and joins Carter on the couch to watch the rest of the movie.

 

—

 

“Mama, I need to chop something,” Amy says.

 

Sam’s got her hands full of raw fish. She looks down at Amy, who’s standing next to the junk drawer, clutching a piece of orange construction paper and looking very serious. “Not right now,” Sam says, turning back to the fish. She needs to rub the filets with oil and season them, and then wash her hands and put this pan in the oven to cook, and then she can get the scissors out of the junk drawer and help Amy with whatever it is she needs to cut. Amy’s almost tall enough to reach in the drawer and grab the scissors herself, but that’s a big no-no, and Amy knows it.

 

“But I _need_ to,” Amy says. “I need scissors to chop. It’s my implement.”

 

Sam pauses. “Implement?”

 

“It’s the tool for chopping. I need it.”

 

Implement. Sam feels quite sure Amy isn’t picking these words up from Gus and Kyle. They’re smart boys but Sam has never once heard them say something like ‘implement.’

 

“You’re just going to have to wait,” Sam says. “We can chop together when I’m done with the fish.”

 

“I can do it myself,” Amy insists, but Sam shakes her head. “Ugh,” Amy says, stomping away from the junk drawer. “For crying out loud.”

 

—

 

Every year in March, Mark and Heather take their family on a vacation for a week. This year, they’re going to San Diego.

 

“Amy could come with us,” Heather says, and Sam thinks this is really generous, kind of ridiculous, and a little bit pathetic, for her. “You could both come, if you wanted.”

 

“We’re fine,” Sam says. “I’ve got a ton of leave I never use,” and then she feels even more pathetic for having just admitted this. Maybe she should let Amy go to California with her cousins. At least she’d get a proper vacation.

 

Sam talks to the Colonel about taking the week off, and he assures her that, excepting the possibility of planetary annihilation, it’s not a problem for the SGC.

 

“Any fun plans for the week?” he asks.

 

“I’m not really sure yet,” Sam says. She hasn’t thought much beyond requesting leave.

 

“We could go to the cabin,” he says, and Sam tries not to let her jaw drop. He’s mentioned his cabin a couple times before, always with great fondness. “I mean, I’ve got a bunch of leave time too.” Is he really suggesting they take a vacation together? Alone, together, in his nice, cozy, secluded cabin?

 

“We can’t,” she says quickly.

 

“You can’t?” he repeats. She _had_ just admitted she was unsure about their plans.

 

“Well it’s just…” she fumbles now, does she really have to spell out for him why they can’t go to his cabin? They’re already pushing the line on the things they’re allowed to do together. By some definitions - by most definitions, probably - they crossed the line months ago. “… isn’t it cold?”

 

“Well sure,” he says. “But we have fun in the cold, right?”

 

She thinks of him last weekend at her house, tossing a very happy Amy up in the air next to the snowman they’d built together, his face flushed from the cold and the exertion. She thinks of him sitting next to her on the couch after putting Amy down for her nap, clutching a mug of coffee but not drinking it, gently dozing off. She thinks of how she took the mug from his hands and set it on the table, then turned the volume down on the TV so he could nap. She thinks of his paint trays and drop cloths stacked neatly in her garage. She thinks of the little dimple he gets on the right side of his mouth when Amy unintentionally says something funny and he’s trying not to offend her by laughing. “Yeah,” she says tentatively. “We have fun.”

 

“And in Minnesota, there’s even more fun to be had. There’s ice fishing. Snowshoeing. Cross country skiing. Hockey. Skating. Did I mention ice fishing?”

 

She really can’t believe he’s being serious right now. But his brown eyes are twinkling and she can practically feel him warming to the idea. She can feel _herself_ warming to the idea, a little too much. She can feel herself smiling. About ice fishing.

 

“We’re just going to do some stuff around here, sir,” she says.

 

“Ok,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

 

Still, when Sam picks Amy up from the Colonel’s house on the Saturday after their week off together, she finds them both sitting on chairs at the edge of the steps that lead down to the living room, holding plastic straws with pieces of twine dangling through the ends.

 

“Hi mama!” Amy greets her. “We’re pretend fishing.”

 

Sam then sees fridge magnets tied to the long, dangling ends of the twine, and she notices their alphabet sea, a scattering of magnet letters on the steps in front of them.

 

“Oh,” Sam says. “Catch anything?”

 

“I caught a Y,” Amy says, looking immensely pleased with herself. “Like in Amy.”

 

“She’s a natural, Carter,” the Colonel says. He’s slouching in his chair, he’s got a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and he looks more relaxed than she’s used to seeing him, even on Saturdays or Wednesday nights.

 

“Do you want to go fishing with us?” Amy asks, and Sam sighs, because she does. She really, really does, and that’s exactly the problem.

 


	21. Serpent's Song

Sam is on her knees in front of the Colonel, rubbing furiously.

 

“Would you cut it out already?” he says, looking annoyed.

 

She ignores him.

 

“Carter!” he barks, and that catches her attention. She pauses.

 

“I can get this off, sir,” she replies with confidence, staring fixedly at the problem in question. She can do this. She’s good at this kind of thing.

 

“You really don’t need to,” he says.

 

“Yes I do,” she says, looking up at him guiltily. “This is all my fault.” Then she drops her gaze and resumes her rubbing with renewed vigor.

 

“This isn’t anyone’s fault, it’s just something that happened,” he says. “I can take care of it myself.”

 

“No, _I_ can take care of it,” she says.

 

“It’s not even bothering me,” he tries.

 

“It’s bothering _me_ ,” she insists.

 

“Last I checked, this -“ he motions in front of him where she’s still rubbing with impressive strength and speed “- does not belong to you.”

 

“But it’s _huge_ ,” she says, and she sighs. She sits back on her heels and looks at it again. Amy’s drawn a big red squiggly line with marker along the length of the wall in the Colonel’s guest bedroom. All Sam has accomplished so far is to make one small section of it a little blurry. But if she could just run out and grab a pack of magic erasers or something…

 

“Carter!” he snaps again, shaking her from her musings. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I prefer my wall with a little red marker on it?” He bends down, grabs her arm, pulls her up to standing.

 

“They’re supposed to be washable,” she practically whispers, her voice contrite.

 

“You and I both know that’s just a marketing gimmick,” he says. He’s still holding onto her arm. “And anyway, I’m the one who didn’t realize she was up from her nap already. Not that I’m saying this bothers me. Because it doesn’t.”

 

“I’m just… I’m very sorry.” Property damage at her commanding officer’s house is something she’d really, really hoped to avoid.

 

“The only thing that’s bothering me at this point is that little part you messed up.” He points to where she’d been rubbing with a soapy washcloth. “Maybe I can put a shelf in front of it or something.” He makes an exaggerated grimace.

 

“I’ll pay for the shelf,” she says quickly.

 

He throws his hands up in the air. “For crying out loud, Carter.” He turns and walks out of his guest bedroom.

 

“I’ll repaint!” she says to his retreating form. “I’ll… whatever you need!”

 

—

 

Sam finally rents a truck to get her couches out of storage. The Colonel had offered his pickup, but Sam doesn’t want to take multiple trips. She decides to get her coffee table out of storage too, for the same reason she’s swapping out the couches, along with a bookshelf and a couple boxes of books. They’re books she hasn’t needed in two years, books she hasn’t really thought about, but they’re _hers,_ and she has this whole house now. She should put up her bookshelf and put her books on it.

 

Daniel and Teal’c come to help with the heavy lifting, which turns out to be a good thing, since Amy requires at least one adult to keep her from getting underfoot. Once everything has been moved, Sam stands in the the living room and considers the new furniture, the new, old furniture. It’s not in terrible shape. But Sam definitely won’t worry if Amy gets marker or ketchup or glitter glue on anything.

 

Everyone heads to the kitchen and Sam calls in their pizza order. “Did you paint?” Daniel asks once she’s off the phone.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says.

 

“Yes!” Amy says at the same time. “I have my own paint brush! I sat on Jack’s shoulders to paint the top.” She points up at the top of the wall.

 

“Oh,” Daniel says to Amy, looking surprised. Then he clears his throat. “It looks nice,” he says to Sam.

 

Sam swallows hard. She’d like to thank him for the compliment, but she can’t quite get the words out.

 

The pizza arrives and everyone sits down at the table. Teal’c pulls out a chair next to Amy. “Usually, Jack sits there,” Amy tells him. It’s another one of those helpful adverbs the Colonel has taught her, and she says it a little funny, but her meaning here comes across very clearly.

 

It’s all Sam can do not to slink out of the room. But Teal’c, gracious as ever, simply tips his head to Amy and finds himself another chair.

 

—

 

They still do team nights too, with about the same frequency as before, once every month or two. Sometimes they even do team mornings.

 

SG-1 returns from P5Y-338 at 0600 on a Tuesday, and everyone is keyed up. The people of that planet are profoundly suspicious, always looking over their shoulders, and SG-1 had had a hell of a time working out a treaty to mine their naquadah. What’s more, this planet’s rotation gave them a 38-hour day, which is on the somewhat long side of usual for planets in the Stargate system. The people there have evolved to sleep twice during each cycle, but SG-1, more accustomed to all-nighters than siestas, had been awake all night, or at least, all of Earth’s night. Sometimes the interplanetary jet-lag is hard to keep track of.

 

Hammond orders them home to rest, with the promise of a debrief the next day. But Sam knows she’s wound too tightly to sleep, at least for a while. She looks around at her teammates and sees the same look in their eyes she must have in her own.

 

“Team night?” the Colonel says.

 

“Jack, it’s 6:00 in the morning,” Daniel replies.

 

“I know that, Daniel,” the Colonel says. “Team night are still team nights if they happen in the morning.”

 

“Really?” Daniel asks, looking genuinely interested in this semantic curiosity.

 

“Can I bring Amy?” Sam cuts in. Team night morning sounds like just what she needs, actually.

 

“Can you bring Amy,” the Colonel scoffs, and she smiles. Of course she can bring Amy. She’d better bring Amy.

 

The do their post-mission medical evals, they shower and change, and Sam calls Heather and tells her she’ll be there to collect Amy in fifteen minutes. A half hour later, they’re all at the Colonel’s. He hands Sam and Daniel a cup of coffee each, Amy and Teal’c a cup of orange juice each, and then he tells them all to stay the hell out of the kitchen.

 

Sam gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t ask questions. She’s content with her coffee, content to sit with Daniel on the couch while Amy plops herself in Teal’c’s lap and pulls books for him to read to her out of a tote bag. Teal’c probably assumes Amy brought the tote bag with her from Heather’s, or maybe that it’s something Sam keeps in the car, but it’s not, it’s the Colonel’s, the one he uses when he takes Amy to the library.

 

Sam has never said anything to Teal’c or Daniel about the time Amy spends with the Colonel - the time she _and_ Amy spend with him. And the more time passes, the more it feels like a secret.

 

This train of thought notwithstanding, Sam feels herself relaxing, coming down from the post-mission buzz, and before she knows it, her coffee is gone. She checks in with Daniel, he’s still nursing his, so she heads to the kitchen and get herself a refill. The Colonel had said to stay out, but surely he won’t deny her coffee, will he?

 

“Carter!” he barks at her when she enters the room. “When did you get so bad at following orders?”

 

She shrugs at him. “When I ran out of coffee, sir,” she says, but he doesn’t seem amused.

 

“I’m trying to make my world-famous omelets here, Carter,” he says.

 

Sam raises her eyebrows at him. “World-famous, huh? How many people have you made breakfast for, exactly?”

 

He does seem amused at this, as much as Sam feels a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. Did she really just say that to her CO? “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replies with a smirk.

 

Oh god, but this feels like flirting. He’s turned away from her now, he’s pouring beaten eggs into a hot pan on the stove, and she’s grateful he can’t see how she’s blushing.

 

“It’s ok, actually,” he says. “I already added my secret ingredient.”

 

“Secret ingredient?”

 

“Mmhmm,” he says. “Can’t tell you what it is, or I’d have to shoot you.”

 

Sam narrows her eyes ever so slightly at the back of his head. “It’s beer, isn’t it.”

 

He spins around and narrows his eyes right back at her. “It is not beer.”

 

“Because you know, I usually don’t let Amy have any alcohol before noon.”

 

He points at her and then drops his hand and leans against the counter that’s between them. “Even if it was beer, and it’s not, the alcohol would burn off when it cooks. But it’s not beer.”

 

“Hmm,” Sam nods. “It’s just that, all the books say not to feed your kids beer for breakfast until they’re _at least_ three.” Yeah, this definitely feels like flirting, but she just can’t seem to stop herself. It must be the sleep deprivation talking.

 

He glowers at her a moment longer and then steps abruptly around the counter and into his pantry. He grabs her arm and pulls her in with him.

 

The pantry is small and the light is off. He reaches his arm up over her head, and she hopes he’s turning the light on just as fervently as she hopes he leaves it off. Her face is practically in his neck. This pantry was not meant for two people.

 

He finds what he was looking for and lowers his hand, presenting her with a small glass jar that looks like it’s been around for a couple decades.

 

“Shallot salt?”

 

“It’s perfect in eggs,” he says in a hushed voice. “You just need a dash. It doesn’t even make anything taste onion-y, it just makes the eggs taste… exactly how eggs were always meant to taste.”

 

She passes the small jar back to him and lifts her eyes to his. Their fingers brush and their noses could touch if she just tipped herself the tiniest bit forward, and she tries very, very hard to regulate her breathing, but in these close quarters, she’s afraid he can hear exactly how fast her heart is beating.

 

“Shallot salt,” she repeats. She does her best to look skeptical or judgmental or something, anything other than what she’s actually feeling.

 

“I swear to god, Carter,” he says, his voice still low and hushed, “if this gets out, I’ll know you leaked it, and… and you’ll never work in this town again.”

 

But Sam is definitely not thinking about work right now.

 

Somehow she manages to slip out of the pantry and pour herself some more coffee. When she gets back to the living room, Amy is still in Teal’c’s lap but the book they had been reading is done.

 

“Mama?” Amy says in a loud, clear voice. “Where are my Jack’s house coloring books?”

 

Sam feels herself flush all over again, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Teal’c and Daniel exchange a look. “Coffee table,” she says.

 

“Oh yeah,” Amy says, getting up from Teal’c’s lap and ambling casually over to the coffee table. She opens the little drawer and there they are, three different coloring books and a box of 24 crayons, sitting next to the TV remote and a fishing magazine.

 

—

 

A few weeks later, SG-1 is returning their empty commissary trays and going their separate ways after lunch, and Jack says to Carter, “Hey, can we do Sunday this weekend?”

 

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. It’s true that they usually stick to their Saturday plan unless something specific comes up. “Sure. Everything ok, sir?”

 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s just, my truck is very overdue for an oil change, and the place I go is closed on Sunday.” And even on Saturdays, they’re only open until noon, and even if he has an appointment, it always seems to take forever.

 

She frowns at him. “You don’t do it yourself?” Then she bites her lip, like she’s afraid that came across as condescending. It kind of did. Jack imagines Carter is the kind of person who never trusts her car to a stranger if she can help it.

 

“Well it’s not that I can’t,” he says defensively. “It’s just that I… don’t.”

 

“I could do it for you, sir,” she says. When he hesitates, she adds, “unless you don’t trust me with your truck.”

 

“Of course I trust you with my truck,” he says. Apparently she knows how to talk him into letting her help with stuff just as well as he knows how to talk her into letting him help with stuff.

 

She smiles. “So, Saturday?”

 

“You bet,” he says.

 

“What’s Saturday?” Daniel says, appearing out of nowhere with a fresh cup of coffee, or at least as fresh as it gets on base.

 

Jack considers him for a moment and then gives an answer that’s at least partially true. “Oil change.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Daniel says. “Sam did my car too last summer.” He turns to Carter. “Is that something I’m supposed to do again sometime?”

 

Carter gives him a smile. “You’re fine for a while longer,” she says. “You never drive anywhere anyway.”

 

Daniel shrugs. “Why travel by car when you can travel by Stargate?” Jack rolls his eyes at the lame joke but Carter grins at him indulgently. “So you guys are getting together Saturday?” It’s the first time a teammate has asked them, point-blank, about their weekend plans, and Jack finds that he’s not quite sure what to say.

 

“You wanna come over too?” Carter says in a rush, her eyes darting to Jack and then back to Daniel. Jack feels himself raising his own eyebrows in surprise. He’s not sure what he expected her to say, but that wasn’t it.

 

Daniel looks back and forth between them. “Nah,” he says finally. “I think I’m going to be… busy. But thanks.”

 

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Carter calls after him as he walks away.

 

—

 

Sam is in the garage, elbow deep in the hood of the Colonel’s truck on Saturday morning when Amy spills chocolate milk on her right sleeve and pant leg. She and the Colonel had been having a treasure hunt using pieces from the set of dinosaur puzzles Amy got for Christmas, and they’d been drinking chocolate milk, apparently.

 

“Mama!” Amy wails as she careens through the door that connects the garage to the house. “I need to take my clothes off _right now_!” She’s crying, she looks frantic. Sam does her best not to roll her eyes. She would point out that it’s only a small spill, that it’s not actually hurting her, and that really, she shouldn’t have been drinking chocolate milk from an open cup anywhere but seated at a table in the first place. But Sam knows it would be a lost cause. Amy takes extreme offense when anything spills or splashes or otherwise tarnishes her clothing these days.

 

“Give me a minute,” Sam says. Really, she needs about 20 more minutes, but she’ll be at a stopping point soon. She’s got grease all over her hands and she’s not excited about the prospect of washing up enough to help Amy change her clothes only to get greasy all over again, but so it goes sometimes when you’re a mom, she supposes.

 

The Colonel swoops in and picks Amy up. “I got it, Carter,” he says, and Amy beams at him. Waiting a minute has never been Amy’s strong suit anyway. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go,” he says. The two of them disappear back into the house.

 

Twenty minutes later, Sam is indeed done with the oil change. It feels good to do something for him, even this small thing, considering everything he’s been doing for her, for her and Amy. She wipes her hands on a rag and goes back into the house through the door to the kitchen, where the Colonel and Amy now have all the puzzle pieces spread out over the floor. Sam takes one look at her daughter and tries not to laugh. “Amy, honey, did you dress yourself?”

 

“No,” the Colonel says with just a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I did.” He frowns and tilts his head to the side and seems to reconsider Amy’s outfit.

 

She’s wearing a purple sweatshirt with pockets, solid-color pants in a different shade of purple, and blueish purple socks with blue polka-dots. The socks are pulled up over her pants, which themselves are on backwards, and the pockets on her sweatshirt are turned out.

 

“Purple matches,” he concludes, apparently deciding to stand by his work.

 

Sam chuckles softly to herself. “You look great, sweetie,” she says to Amy, bending over to lay a kiss on the top of her head.

 

“We’re doing a boat race,” Amy says. “This is the kitchen floor ocean and these are the boats.” She indicates a nearby puzzle piece.

 

“I need to wash up,” Sam says, “but when I’m done with that, could I race with you guys?”

 

Amy grins. “You bet!” she says happily.

 

—

 

The next time they have a team night at the Colonel’s, it’s actually at night, and Amy remembers all on her own where the coloring books are. She’s sitting on the floor flipping through one of them, coloring a little bit of green on every single page, and Sam and Teal’c are sitting on the couch while Daniel helps the Colonel finish up with whatever he’s making for dinner.

 

“Your daughter is quite at ease in this house,” Teal’c remarks, and Sam stiffens. She knew something would be coming, from one of her teammates or the other.

 

“It’s a comfortable house,” she tries. “I feel at ease here too.”

 

“Indeed,” Teal’c says. He gives her a look and nods a little too knowingly.

 

Sam turns to face him. “I mean anyone could feel at ease here. It’s not just us. I mean me. I mean me and Amy. Don’t you feel at ease?”

 

Teal’c raises an eyebrow smoothly but gives her a gentle smile. “I do,” he assures her.

 

Sam sighs and turns back to Amy, who has now apparently decided that every page in this coloring book needs a little bit of orange.

 

Teal’c waits a moment, long enough that Sam almost thinks she’s safe, that he’s given up on whatever he was trying to say. But then he speaks again. “Finding peace can be difficult for warriors such as ourselves. I am happy for you that you have found it here.”

 

Sam closes her eyes for a long moment and then turns to face him. “Look, Teal’c, we’re not… I mean, the Colonel, he’s… we can’t…” she sighs, and tries again, “I don’t want you to think -“

 

“O’Neill has explained that the Air Force has regulations that would prevent you from being together,” he says evenly, as Sam’s jaw drops to the floor.

 

“He has?” When did it come up? Why? What, exactly, did he say? Sam spends a moment trying to decide if she can ask any of these follow-up questions without giving anything more away, but it’s too late, Teal’c’s got that look on his face again, that serious but also amused and definitely way too knowing look. For as much as she’s floundering, he definitely came into this conversation with a clear plan.

 

“I understand that it is important to you both to conduct yourselves in a manner consistent with what the Air Force expects,” he says, rightly ignoring Sam’s mostly rhetorical question. “But I also believe that it is unproductive to wage battles on so many fronts. Perhaps this is something you should not fight.”

 

And there it is. Her jaw drops again and she blinks at him dumbly, because what, exactly, is he suggesting? She knows Teal’c would never advise her to leave SG-1. So does that mean he thinks she and the Colonel should…

 

It occurs to Sam that maybe he’s not _suggesting_ as much as he’s _offering_ , offering his support and his silence, things Sam can’t ask him to give. But she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to sneak around, not with the Colonel. She doesn’t want her friends to secretly support, to lie. She wants… she can’t even let herself think about what she wants, because god, she wants so much.

 

“Teal’c,” she says, imploring, “it’s not like that. There’s nothing going on. This time we spend together, it’s just about Amy. Really.” She needs him to believe this, she needs to believe it herself.

 

“I see,” he says. He gives her nod, though he doesn’t look all that convinced by her eloquent argument, and he turns his attention back to the child in question. Amy is now ripping all the pages out of the coloring book one by one and spreading them out over the floor.

 

Apparently Teal’c has said what he needed to say, but he’s left Sam feeling more than a little panicked about what this all means.

 

—

 

Team night dinner wraps up, and Carter and Amy make a quick exit, but Daniel doesn’t quite felt like leaving yet and Teal’c is always up for a movie. So they find one on TV and eat a couple bags of microwave popcorn and throw back a few more beers. The movie has a sequel, so they watch that too, throwing popcorn kernels at the commercials they’ve now seen a million times and are quite sick of. Daniel is nodding off by the time the second movie is done, so Jack motions in the direction of his guest room and Teal’c makes himself comfortable on the couch. It’s been a while since the guys have stayed over, and Jack thinks it will be nice to have them around in the morning for breakfast. He wonders if he’s got enough eggs for omelets for everyone. They were a hit last time, as they always are.

 

In the morning, Jack is in the kitchen beating eggs when Daniel comes in, looking for coffee. He finds it, pours himself a cup and takes a few sips.

 

“You sleep ok?” Jack says by way of greeting.

 

“Yeah,” Daniel replies.

 

Jack nods and looks back down at the eggs he’s still whisking.

 

“New sheets on the guest bed, huh?” Daniel says, and Jack can just hear the smile in his voice, even though he’s not looking at him.

 

Then he remembers.

 

Daniel continues, “I didn’t know you were a, uh, pink and purple butterflies kind of guy.”

 

Jack clears his throat. “Did you have any specific reason to believe I was _not_ a pink and purple butterflies kind of guy?” He’d seen the sheets at the store a couple weeks ago and remembered that Amy has butterflies on her new comforter at her own house, in the bedroom he and Carter just repainted for her. He thought she’d get a kick out of having butterflies for sleeping at his house too, and anyway, these days Amy uses that room more than anyone else, by far. But Jack hadn’t exactly been remembering those new sheets when he offered Daniel the guest room last night.

 

“No no, I like it,” Daniel says. “It’s a good look for you. I wonder if there’s a matching clothing line.”

 

“I might look into that,” Jack says. He turns away, pours the eggs into the pan on the stove and hopes this will be the end of the conversation.

 

“So you guys spend a lot of time together,” Daniel says. Of course it’s not the end of the conversation. This is Daniel. “You and Amy.”

 

Jack’s instinct is to tell Daniel to mind his own damn business, but he’s not sure why he feels so defensive. He takes a deep breath, tips the pan to evenly distribute the egg mixture, and reminds himself that Daniel is his friend. “I guess so,” he says noncommittally.

 

“And Sam?” Daniel asks.

 

“What about her?” Jack replies.

 

“You spend a lot of time with her too.” Daniel says it like it’s a statement of fact, he doesn’t even bother to pretend it’s a question.

 

“Of course I do, I work with her,” Jack bites out. “Just like you do.”

 

Daniel, true to form, doesn’t seem to care that he’s starting to piss Jack off. “But you spend a lot of time with her outside of work too,” he says pointedly.

 

Jack considers his options and decides that another deep breath is in order. “I’ve been helping her with stuff around the house,” he says. “Helping out with Amy. Things like that.”

 

Daniel nods. “That’s good,” he says.

 

Jack can’t quite check his sarcasm. This feels too personal and it’s making Jack upset and he’s not totally sure why. “You know, it’s funny, I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

 

Daniel shrugs. “You probably don’t remember saying anything to me about it, since you haven’t.”

 

Jack feels his jaw tighten. He’s doing his best to just have a conversation here, like two friends do, but Daniel is not making this easy. Still, it’s true that Daniel could be upset right now. They’re supposed to be a team, the four of them, and it’s now become quite evident that half of the team spends a lot of time together without the other half. But Daniel doesn’t seem hurt, just curious, and Jack has to give him credit for that.

 

So Jack runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “Look,” he says. “It’s not like we’ve been trying to sneak around. I think it’s been hard to her to ask for help, ever since her mom died…” he trails off, and Daniel, for once, doesn’t pursue him. Apparently dead parents is a subject he’ll respect.

 

“I get it,” Daniel says.

 

“You do?” All of a sudden, it’s really important to Jack that Daniel does get it, that he doesn’t feel left out or overlooked, that he doesn’t think this was some intentional effort to go behind his back and be social without him.

 

“I do,” Daniel says. He offers a small smile and drinks some more of his coffee, and Jack thinks maybe the conversation really is over now. He turns to check on the eggs. They’re almost done.

 

“So you and Sam, are you guys…”

 

Jack turns around sharply. “Are we _what_?”

 

Daniel looks taken aback at Jack’s tone but presses on with his question nonetheless. “Are you guys… together?”

 

“Dammit, Daniel,” he says, clenching his jaw. “We talked about this.”

 

“Yeah,” Daniel says. “I guess that was before I knew Amy slept over here enough to warrant you redecorating your guest room.”

 

“She doesn’t -“ Jack starts. “It’s not -“ He shakes his head crisply. “No one’s sleeping over,” he says, and he has to push back the sudden image of Carter in his bed. “I watch Amy sometimes, she naps here. There’s nothing going on between me and Carter.” He’s trying to sound as firm as he can.

 

“Are you sure?” Daniel dares to ask.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jack says hotly, banging his fist on the counter for emphasis. Daniel startles a little, and by some miracle, understands the question as rhetorical.

 

“Ok, ok,” he says. “Nothing going on.” He taps his own fingers softly on the counter and then says, “It’s just…”

 

“It’s just _what_??” Jack nearly shouts.

 

“You seem happy,” Daniel says with a shrug.

 

Jack sighs audibly and feels himself deflate. “Does it really look like we’re… I mean, me and Carter?” He waves his hand back and forth in the air.

 

“If I say yes, will you yell at me again?”

 

“Dammit,” Jack says, shaking his head as he leans forward, both arms on the counter. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

 

“I’m sure you’re helpful,” Daniel says. Jack gives him a skeptical look. “Really,” he says again. “Very… helpful.”

 

Jack regards him for a moment longer, then he turns back to the stove. The eggs are burned but probably still edible. “I’m telling Teal’c the eggs are your fault,” he says.

 

—

 

The next Saturday afternoon, while Amy is napping and Jack is helping Carter install a new shelving unit for her tools along the back of her garage, he stops in the middle of hanging the mounting bracket on the wall and says, “Carter, is this helpful?”

 

He just can’t get that conversation with Daniel out of his head, and he really doesn’t want Carter to think that all of this is part of some elaborate scheme to make a pass at her. He would never put her in that position, he would never take advantage like that, and anyway, he sure as hell knows the Air Force fraternization regulations that would declare anything at all between them to be very wrong indeed.

 

She looks up at him from where she’s sitting on the garage floor, organizing her socket wrenches. “Yeah,” she says, “of course.”

 

“Ok,” he says. “Good.” And he gets back to work.

 

—

 

When the end of March rolls around, Sam sees a reminder pop up on her calendar. It’s been six months since she came back to work after her mom died. She was going to give it six months and then, per the Colonel’s suggestion, take a step back and assess whether her continued assignment to SG-1 is working for her, for her and for Amy.

 

She’d felt conflicted about her decision to rejoin a front-line team, but things are different now than they were six months ago. Apophis was dead then, or so they thought, but then alive again and dead again and now, according to Martouf, at least, he’s likely being killed and brought back to life repeatedly by Sokar. So it’s hard to say where things stand with him, but even so, it’s become strikingly clear that the Goa’uld threat to Earth extends far beyond Apophis.

 

Along with the new threats have come some encouraging new opportunities too. The Tau’ri are allied with the Tok’ra now, and her own father is a Tok’ra, even if she hasn’t seen him since he disappeared through the gate with Garshaw all those months ago. They have naquadah now, and trinium. Sam feels like her work on SG-1 has contributed to these developments. She feels like it’s important.

 

And Amy is thriving. The arrangement with Heather and Mark, while not perfect, is working out better than Sam had hoped. Amy gets along well with her cousins and seems to be at an age where she benefits from having a small peer group. And Heather is terrific. Sam can’t imagine another child care option that would work for Amy, and she’s grateful every day that her brother is local and his wife is so accommodating.

 

Without much more thought, Sam closes out the notification and goes back to her work.

 

A half hour later, she hears footsteps slowing as they near the door to her lab, and she knows it’s him without even looking up. He leans against the door frame and sticks his hands in his pockets.

 

“Carter,” he greets her.

 

“Sir,” she says. “Did you need something?”

 

“Nope.” He shakes his head and stands there, looking at her in a way that makes her wonder if she’s got something in her teeth. “It’s been six months,” he says finally. “We’re supposed to check in, right?”

 

“Oh,” she says. “Right.” She shouldn’t be surprised he remembered, but she is. Did he set a reminder on his calendar too? Is that something he knows how to do? Does he even maintain a calendar for work? She thinks it’s more likely that he’s got some finely-tuned internal alarm that goes off just exactly when she needs him.

 

“Is the fact that you forgot about our six-month check-in a good sign?” he asks tentatively.

 

“I remembered, sir,” she says quickly. “I just didn’t think you would.”

 

She reddens, that came out wrong. He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head a little bit to the side. “You’re my second in command, Carter,” he says with sincerity. “I remembered.”

 

“Of course,” she says. “I’m sorry, sir.”

 

He waves a hand at her and pushes off the door frame, taking a few steps over to where she’s sitting at her work bench. “So?” he says. “Six months. Thoughts?”

 

“I think I’m good, sir,” she says.

 

He nods, and his eyes sweep around her lab, taking in all of her computers and equipment. “I’m not saying we don’t need you on SG-1,” he says, “because we do. But there are a lot of other places that need you too, if this isn’t working.”

 

Sam knows she’s got options. Between the naquadah, the trinium, and the items they brought back from Ma’chello’s lab, the science departments at the SGC and at Area 51 are in full spin. There’s even talk of building their own spaceships, something Sam would’ve barely allowed herself to dream about a few years ago. So many recently impossible things have all of a sudden become very possible. Sam allows herself a second to think about what it would be like to stay on this side of the gate and work in the science department at the SGC. It could be exciting and fulfilling.

 

But it’s not what she loves.

 

“What we’re doing is working for me,” she says to him.

 

The Colonel looks her in the eye and holds her gaze. “Me too,” he says. His voice sounds deep and meaningful and his eyes are intense, and she wonders if he’s doing it on purpose or if she’s just imagining things, because is he still talking about work? Is she? Sam allows herself a second, just a quick second, to think about what other things might become possible if she left SG-1. She could reverse-engineer alien tech, she could build space ships, and she could… they could… maybe…

 

“Just out of curiosity,” he continues, oblivious, hopefully, to her musings, “do you have any idea what would make this _not_ work for you anymore?”

 

“Antarctica,” she says quickly, too quickly, if the surprised look on his face is anything to go by.

 

“Ah,” he says. They’d talked about it after they first got back, but she’s not sure he realizes how close she came to calling it all off. She couldn’t stand the thought that she had almost died like that, so senselessly and unproductively. She couldn’t stand the thought that it might happen again. “You know, that’s the kind of call that’s easy to make in hindsight, but -“

 

“I know,” she says. It’s hard to tell ahead of time when you’re likely to die senselessly. And every time they step through the gate, every time they open the gate, every day they continue to maintain the Stargate, they take that risk. It’s no less true today than it was when they were first starting out two years ago. She thinks about Sokar and the particle accelerator he used in a nearly-successful attempt to break through their iris. They came very, very close to losing the SGC that day to a Goa’uld they’d barely heard of before. But this last year, the risks have felt productive. They’ve felt worth it. So she gives him a little shrug and says, “I think I’m where I need to be, sir. It just… it feels right.”

 

He regards her for a long moment, and she wonders if he’d expected a more scientific explanation. But Sam has no numbers to weigh the variables, no equations to balance risk and reward, she’s just got this feeling. “If that’s good enough for you, Carter, it’s good enough for me,” he says.

 

He’s making his exit now, he’s nearly out the door when she stops him. “Sir?” she says, and he turns.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Sam hesitates for just a second and then pushes out the words: “Thank you.”

 

“For what?” he asks, and Sam almost laughs. For caring about her career. For encouraging her to consider her options, even if he clearly has his own preference. For painting her kitchen, for maintaining her yard. For cooking her dinner, for doing the dishes. For caring for her daughter, for making the little girl so happy. For being there for her, these last six months. For so, so many things.

 

“For remembering today,” she says. “I… thanks.”

 

“You bet,” he says smoothly, and he walks away.

 

 


	22. Show and Tell

It’s a Wednesday, of course it’s a Wednesday, when another small boy named Charlie collapses in Jack’s arms and nearly dies. Jack feels this Charlie, the new Charlie - way too new, to hear Doc Fraiser tell it - slump against him, he feels his skin get clammy, he feels his life slipping quietly away.

 

If the Reetou had set out to specifically devise a way to save planet Earth while simultaneously torturing Jack O’Neill to the fullest extent possible, they couldn’t have come up with anything better than this, a dying boy named Charlie. And now Jack feels wrung-out and unmoored, heavy and unsettled and a little disoriented. He feels like he’s on the brink of some kind of breakdown.

 

A dying boy named Charlie. How the hell is he supposed to deal with this?

 

“Please don’t worry about tonight, sir,” he hears Carter say to him in a low voice as they make their way to the briefing room. “I’ll tell Amy something came up.”

 

Wednesday. Jack is pretty much on autopilot at this point. It’s a survival mechanism. He blinks at Carter, and then frowns. Amy. Oh god, Amy. He hopes his face doesn’t betray the sudden panic, fear, hope and desperation that flash through him in the two seconds that have passed since she mentioned her daughter’s name.

 

But Carter must see something, because she tilts her head a little bit to the side and then says, “Though of course you’re always welcome.”

 

He swallows hard and tries not to audibly sigh in relief. Only then does he realize how very much he does not want to go home and get drunk alone tonight.

 

He still hasn’t said a word to her, hasn’t so much as nodded at her, but she gives his arm a little squeeze as she walks past him to take her seat at the table.

 

When the debrief is over, Jack and Carter leave the mountain together. He waits in his truck while she picks up Amy from her aunt and uncle’s house, and then he follows them home. They make turkey meatballs for dinner - Carter mixes everything together and he and Amy form the little balls and line them up on a pan to bake.

 

Jack knows he’s not great company at dinner, but he hopes that through his quieter-than-usual demeanor, Carter can see how grateful he is to be eating real food with real people tonight.

 

Dinner is over and Jack is washing the dishes slowly, methodically. Carter and Amy are moving through the house, picking up her toys in her play room and then changing her into her pajamas, brushing her teeth in the downstairs bathroom. The cadence of their steps and their voices washes over him like the water washes over his hands and it feels familiar, comforting, reassuring, even if tonight he can’t quite participate in their Wednesday bedtime rituals.

 

He notices Carter shooting concerned glances at him as she passes, like she’s checking on him, to make sure he’s still holding it together. He is, isn’t he? Jack looks down at the bowl in his hand and realizes he’s washed that one already. Maybe a couple times. With a sigh, he rinses it, again, and sets it in the rack to dry.

 

“Alright, Amy,” she says eventually. “Time to say goodnight to Jack.”

 

The little girl stands in front of him, her soft blond curls nothing at all like the sick little boy at the SGC today. She smiles and reaches for his hand. “I want Jack to tuck me in,” she says. The fact that they all made dinner together makes dishes duty, and by extension, bedtime duty, ambiguous, and Amy knows it.

 

But Jack’s heart clenches. Tonight, this might break him. So instead of answering, he simply looks up and locks eyes with Carter, who, ever the vigilant 2IC, seems to read his mind perfectly. “Hey,” she says, kneeling down on the floor and putting her hand gently on Amy’s cheek. “It’s going to be me tonight.” Amy’s bottom lip starts to protrude ever so slightly but Carter doesn’t take the bait. “You give Jack a great big hug, and we can read two books before lights out, ok?”

 

Amy seems willing to consider this proposal. “Two books?” Carter nods, and Amy turns back to Jack. “Good night, Jack,” she says, squeezing him tightly around his legs. “I love you.”

 

Jack nearly chokes on his reply. He thinks of Charlie, the Reetou-made Charlie, and then he thinks of his own Charlie, his precious baby boy, and he hopes to god that he will never let Amy down, that Amy will never hurt, that he will never be powerless to help her. Lacking words, he rubs her curly hair and bends down to kiss the top of her head. “Good night,” he finally manages. He’s grateful to Carter, again, for pretending not to notice the tears in his eyes.

 

He finishes up the dishes, finally, while Carter reads Amy her two books. When she comes back to the kitchen, he’s standing at the counter, staring out at Amy’s play area, seeing children who aren’t there anymore.

 

She moves in next to him. “I’ve got beer, and I’ve got coffee,” she says. “Unless you need to go.”

 

Of course he doesn’t need to go. It’s clear enough that he doesn’t want to go, why else would it have taken him an hour to wash the dishes, why else would he be lingering here still? But she’s got to say it, he understands.

 

“Coffee,” he says. With grace and efficiency, she pours the grounds into the basket, the water into the reservoir, and starts the machine. Soon, the warm and familiar smell of coffee is filling the room.

 

When the coffee has finished brewing, she gets out two mugs and fills them both, adding cream to one. On base, he drinks coffee black, because they don’t have cream, only that weird powder stuff, which is gross, and the coffee is weak anyway, so it doesn’t matter. But Carter knows that when he’s got the option for real cream, he’ll take it any day, especially if the coffee is rich and dark and strong, like the way she makes it at home.

 

Jane took her coffee with cream, usually, but Carter drinks it black. She must buy half and half for him, he realizes.

 

Wordlessly, she sets the coffee with cream in front of him, and retakes her position next to him at the counter, staring out over Amy’s neatly-arranged toys, hands wrapped around her mug.

 

Jack breathes deeply. Coffee was definitely the right choice.

 

Charlie loved trains. Jack knows which of the brightly-colored bins contains Amy’s trains, the ones she got for Christmas, and his eyes snap to it. He sees the ghost of his dead son, at almost three years old, pull the bin off the shelf, remove the lid, and start taking the pieces out to play with them.

 

Enough.

 

“Charlie - ” he says. His voice comes out lower than he wanted it to, and it cracks a little, but Carter isn’t reacting either way, so he presses on. “My Charlie,” he clarifies. “He loved trains.”

 

“Hmm,” Carter hums, still looking straight ahead, like he is, and he’s grateful for the small bit of privacy that affords him. He’s not sure he could say this to someone’s face, even her. Charlie as a baby is something he hasn’t talked about in years. He hasn’t even let himself think about it. But he’s remembering now, and if he doesn’t let it out, he thinks this time it might kill him.

 

“Our house was full of them,” he continues. “I was always stepping on them in the dark, you know?” Carter smiles at this, a small smile, but genuine. If she’s picturing him swearing and kicking the offending toys across the room, she’s right. She takes another sip of her coffee.

 

“He dressed as a train for Halloween three years in a row.” It seems like a little bit of a waste now, for a child who had such a small number of Halloweens to have picked the same thing three times, though at least he did have three different train costumes.

 

“Really?” Carter says, turning towards him a little bit. It’s an invitation for him to continue. She seems to understand or at least be willing to tolerate his need to reclaim a lost memory of Charlie, a good one, and not just the bad ones, not just the worst one that ended them all.

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. He takes a sip of his own coffee. It’s bitter and smooth and hot and perfect. “I remember… one of the first things he could say was ‘choo choo.’ Even when he could barely walk, he’d push his trains around the floor…” Jack moves his hand around the counter in a figure eight, as if holding a toy train. “And everything with wheels was a train to him, when he was little. His cars, trucks, his planes. His bulldozer said choo choo, even this little dog toy he had that had wheels instead of legs.”

 

“That’s really cute,” Carter says.

 

“I kind of thought a kid of mine might be into planes, but nope.” He shakes his head ruefully. It was trains and then it was rocket ships, and then… But Carter is smiling a full smile now, still not looking at him. Her eyes seem to be on Amy’s train bin too. Maybe she’s also imagining a small boy with sandy hair dressed in a train costume. It makes Jack feel a little less alone, and a lot less haunted, if he’s not the only one who can see these memories.

 

“And cheese,” Jack says, clearing his throat a little. Carter can’t help but turn and look at him when he says that, her eyebrows raised in amusement at the apparent nonsequiter. “One of his first words,” Jack clarifies. “I think he thought all food was called ‘cheese’ at first. Any time he got hungry, or bored, or whatever, he’d toddle into the kitchen and start opening up cupboards and talking about cheese.”

 

Carter laughs. “Ok, that’s really funny,” she says.

 

“It was hilarious,” Jack says. “God. We’d just laugh and laugh, all the time. He was such a funny kid.”

 

Their soft laughter dies down after a few more moments and it gets quiet again. Jack sees Carter glance over at him and then back down at her coffee mug. She seems tentative, as if, for the first time so far tonight, she’s not exactly sure what he needs of her. Jack feels a wave of compassion; he’s not really sure what he needs himself.

 

She licks her bottom lip and apparently makes a decision. “Do you remember his first word?” she asks.

 

Jack’s hands grip his coffee mug involuntarily as the memory washes over him. Anyone who thinks they know anything about babies’ development will tell you that while “dada” is often one the first sounds a baby can reliably enunciate, it’s usually meaningless babble, the verbalizations of new vocal chords only just learning how to make and repeat a sound, any sound. But Jack knows, he _knows_ that when little baby Charlie looked at him and said “dada,” he knows Charlie meant him.

 

He’d been on deployment for over a month, and got home around midnight one night in February, a few weeks ahead of Charlie’s birthday. When Charlie woke up the next morning, Jack was there, and they spent the whole day together. Jack remembers his amazement at how much his baby boy had changed in the month he’d been gone, amazement mixed with grief for all the moments he’d missed. He and Sara had talked, she’d taken rolls and rolls of pictures, but it wasn’t the same.

 

That evening, Jack had gone to the grocery store. When he came home an hour later, Charlie was undeniably excited, crawling swiftly to Jack’s feet and using Jack’s pants to pull himself up to standing and reach his arms up. When Jack picked him up, Charlie had pointed one chubby little finger and jabbed it into Jack’s chest. “Dada,” he had said, and he repeated it, “Dada, dada, dada.” Jack couldn’t remember a time he’d felt more loved, or more proud. He remembers the tears in Sara’s eyes and the smile on her face as she held her hand to her heart and watched Charlie hug his dad and say his first words.

 

It’s been a long time since Jack has let himself think about that day.

 

Looking now at the coffee cup he’s clenching in his hands, he can’t bring himself to verbalize any of this. He likes that she asked a question, actually, but this one in particular is too hard. He shakes his head minutely.

 

Next to him, Carter nods once. “Amy’s first word was ‘ashes,’” she says.

 

“Ashes?” Jack repeats, straightening up and turning to face her.

 

Carter shrugs. “Ashes.”

 

“Wow,” Jack says. “That’s… different.”

 

Carter laughs and takes another sip of her coffee. “She said it kind of like ‘asha,’” she explains. “It took me a while to figure out what she was saying, actually. She was maybe… eleven months old? And she was in daycare at the Pentagon.” Jack nods. This must have been shortly before Carter was transferred to the SGC. “She’d just learned how to pull herself up to standing, like on the couch or the coffee table, and she’d stand up and then say this weird word, ‘asha,’ and then drop back to the floor.” Carter shrugs again. “It was to formulaic, too consistent, to be random, but I couldn’t figure it out. It went on for a week or two, I was completely baffled, and then one day I was picking her up at daycare and I saw the older toddlers playing Ring Around the Rosie.”

 

Jack huffs out a laugh as realization dawns. “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down?”

 

“Yep,” she says. “I couldn’t believe it. And when we got home that night, I started singing the song and she got so excited, like she’d been waiting weeks for me to sing along with her…” Carter trails off with a soft chuckle at the memory, and Jack shakes his head. “It’s such a weird song too,” she muses. “Like, kind of disturbing.”

 

“Maybe when she gets older and asks you what her first word was, you should just tell her it was ‘hi,’ or something normal,” he suggests.

 

Carter grins at him. “Yes, sir,” she says. She tips her mug in his direction, and Jack looks down and sees that it’s empty. “Refill?” she asks, already moving to the pot.

 

“Sure,” he says. “Charlie was really into Old McDonald Had a Farm.” She pours more of the steaming coffee into his mug.

 

“Yeah?” she says, adding some cream to his cup and settling in next to him at the counter again.

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “He liked the ee-i-ee-i-o part. But he always wanted the animal to be a cow. I don’t know if he liked saying moo or what.” The memories are all rushing back at Jack, he’s shocked by how easy it is to say these things out loud and overwhelmed by how liberating it feels.

 

“Must have been a dairy farm,” she suggests in a flawlessly casual tone. It’s like she knows exactly what he needs right now; he needs her to normalize this. Jack suspects her casualness is in fact very deliberate. Sounds familiar, actually. Sounds like him most of the time.

 

“Maybe,” he says.

 

“I’m starting to notice a trend,” she says thoughtfully, turning towards him now. “All wheeled vehicles are trains, all food is cheese, all farm animals are cows…”

 

Jack turns too so he’s facing her. “What can I say,” he shrugs. “The kid knew what he liked. No need to mess around with trucks or crackers or pigs or any of that crap.”

 

Carter laughs. “Smart kid,” she says. “I think I would’ve liked him.”

 

“You would’ve,” Jack says, his eyes meeting hers and holding her gaze, his voice suddenly very earnest. “You would’ve really liked him. A lot.” Carter looks demurely down at her coffee and Jack clears his throat. “Hated brushing his teeth though, god. It was a battle every day.”

 

“Really?” Carter asks, turning to him again. “Did you do the toothbrushes thing with him? That totally worked for Amy!”

 

“It worked for Charlie for a couple days, maybe a week. Then it was back to screaming and yelling every time.”

 

“Wow. I wondered about that. I wanted to ask,” she says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” She hesitates for a moment and then adds, “I’ve wanted to ask a lot of things.”

 

Jack nods. Ok then. He feels a little lighter at that admission, like maybe his sudden need to confess his happy memories to her isn’t actually a burden. She hasn’t given him any indication that it is, but still. He’s not usually like this. In fact, he’s never done this before, not ever.

 

“He just grew out of it eventually,” Jack says. “The teeth brushing thing. It was like he got sick of his own tantrums.”

 

“Wow,” she says. “Do you think Amy will grow out of her need to eat spaghetti with her fingers?

 

“Oh, that? No way,” Jack replies. “It’s way to much fun. Tantrums suck, like, for everyone. But have you tried eating spaghetti with your fingers lately?”

 

Carter laughs at him and rolls her eyes. They talk for another hour and a half, leaning against the kitchen counter and nursing their cooling cups of coffee. With every memory he shares, the ghost of Charlie, the ghost that quietly haunts him every day, the ghost that stared at him through the eyes of a dying child who wanted to be called by his name, that ghost fades, and the actual memory of Charlie grows stronger, the whole and complete memory of a happy boy who brought Jack more joy than he’d ever thought he deserved.

 

In the back of his mind, Jack begins to realize that he can’t honor Charlie’s life if all he ever allows himself to remember is Charlie’s death.

 

They talk about Amy too, and Sara, and Mark and Heather and their kids, and Jacob. Today was the first time they’d seen him since he disappeared through the gate with Garshaw all those months ago. They didn’t even get much of a chance to talk to him, though they did get a chance to run around together shooting invisible aliens with transphasic weapons, which is special in its own way.

 

Eventually, Carter taps her empty mug on the counter. “I could put on another pot,” she says, a question in her voice.

 

“Nah,” he says. “I’m ok.” And strangely enough, he is.

 

“Alright,” she says. She makes a move for his mug but he grabs hers first and loads them both into the dishwasher.

 

She walks him to the door. It’s early May and the days are warm, so he didn’t wear a jacket, though it’s after 10:00 and he could probably use one now. She opens the door and leans against it as he takes a step across the threshold and then pauses.

 

“Carter,” he says. He searches her face for any sign that this was too much, this, him baring his soul and testing this radical new concept where he ever talks about his son. He wants to reassure her that it doesn’t have to be like this if she’s not ok with it, though he desperately wants her to be ok with it, because this felt… well, it felt like a lifeline. He wants to tell her she was perfect, listening at the right times, asking questions at the right times, jumping in with stories about Amy at the right times. More than anything, he wants to thank her. But he can’t figure out what words to use, not at all.

 

She simply smiles at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Ok. See ya tomorrow.”

 

 


	23. 1969

Now that Jack has started talking about Charlie, he just can’t seem to stop.

 

_Charlie loved to climb trees._

 

_Charlie’s favorite song as a toddler was Happy Birthday._

 

_Charlie, for a long while, told everyone he wanted to be a dinosaur when he grew up._

 

Jack sees Charlie everywhere, he thinks of him all the time, and it used to be that whenever a memory popped up, he’d push it gently back down and tuck it away, somewhere safe but closed to him, forbidden. He’s never let himself hold these memories, never let himself cherish them.

 

_Charlie would not eat grapes. He said they were too slippery._

 

_Charlie was scared of the front hall closet. He thought there were monsters hiding behind all the long winter coats._

 

_Charlie hated nothing more than having to wear socks._

 

But now when these memories pop up, if he’s with her, he doesn’t push them down anymore. He doesn’t tuck them away. He lets them out. He sets them free.

 

_Charlie swallowed a marble once when he was six._

 

_Charlie said “retend” instead of “pretend” for a whole, entire year, and neither Jack nor Sara could bring themselves to correct him._

 

_Charlie always wanted a dog. They’d even been talking about getting him one._

 

It’s painful, sometimes, but it also feels right. It feels, in its own small way, like Charlie is part of his life again. It’s something Jack never thought he’d have, never thought he deserved.

 

He tries to keep it quiet around Amy, or the guys. But around Carter, he doesn’t hold back. She hears his stories and takes them in. She remembers his memories with him.

 

Sometimes, she even brings up Charlie all on her own.

 

They’re sitting at dinner one night having a normal conversation, or as normal as a conversation can be when one-third of the participating parties is almost 3 years old and testing out newly acquired vocabulary every day. Out of nowhere, Amy drops a bomb.

 

“Jack, do you have a hanging butt?”

 

All Jack wants to do is burst out laughing, but he holds it in, because Amy has asked him this question in earnest and he doesn’t want to insult her. He glances over at Carter, who is five shades of red, and then looks back at Amy. “What do you mean?” he asks.

 

Carter closes her eyes and flushes even redder. “I mean,” Amy says, “your butt. Your front butt.”

 

“At Mark and Heather’s,” Carter finally says, doing her best to straighten up. “They’re boys. Her cousins. It, uh…”

 

“I’m familiar with Amy’s cousins,” Jack nods, and then he stops talking, happy to let either Carter try pick the conversation back up. The elder Carter looks like she wants to crawl under the table, or maybe the house, and the younger one has pasta sauce on her nose.

 

“Gus has a hanging butt,” Amy says, prompting Carter to cover her face with her hand.

 

“Amy,” she finally says to her daughter, “usually boys having hanging butts. You don’t have to ask.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Jack says. “Usually?”

 

Carter turns to him now, still comically red and is that a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead? “Well, sir, there are plenty of people who present or otherwise identify as male who, anatomically speaking, don’t have the -“

 

“Right, Carter, ok.” He holds up a hand to stop her there, and she looks at him helplessly, like she hopes he won’t hold her accountable for what comes out of her mouth at a time like this.

 

“So?” Amy says, ever focused on the question at hand. “Do you?”

 

Carter looks frozen, terrified. It’s not a look Jack sees on her very often, and he takes a moment to let himself feel amused that for all of the bad guys with guns they’ve come across in their travels, _this_ is what has her shaking in her boots.

 

“I do,” he confirms. “And what else about Gus? Is he as tall as you?”

 

“He’s taller than me!” Amy gasps, reaching her pasta-sauce covered hands up in the air. Carter breathes out audibly and slumps in her chair. “He’s so tall!”

 

“Is he taller than me?”

 

“Yes!” Amy says, wiggling her fingers. Jack very much doubts that Amy’s three-year-old cousin is taller than him, but it doesn’t actually matter, of course.

 

“Is he taller than your house?”

 

“No!” Amy cries. “People aren’t taller than houses!” Jack smacks his palm to his forehead in his best Homer Simpson move and Amy laughs. “Jack,” she says, “you crack me up.” She looks at Jack and then at her mom. This is another new phrase she’s been testing out lately, and she’s looking for feedback. “Mama, does Jack crack you up?”

 

Carter can hardly meet his eye. “You crack _me_ up,” Jack says to Amy.

 

“I’m going to go get some more water,” Carter mumbles, and she slinks away from the table, looking like she actually needs something a lot stronger than water.

 

Later, Jack is clearing the table and Carter is washing out the big spaghetti pot. Amy is sitting in her little purple arm chair flipping through a book she and Jack picked up from the library last weekend. “So,” he says, doing his best to keep a very straight face. “Hanging butt.”

 

Carter stops her washing and squeezes her eyes shut. “I guess it was to much to hope you’d let that one go, sir.”

 

“Are you kidding me?” he says. “A gem like that? Though really, Carter, I’d taken you for an ‘actual anatomical terminology only’ kind of parent.”

 

Carter blows out a breath and resumes her scrubbing of the big pot. “Yeah, well, that’s easier said than done.”

 

Jack chuckles to himself. “Still,” he says, “hanging butt. That’s about as far from an anatomy textbook as you’re going to get.”

 

“Oh really?” she asks, turning to face him. “Tell me, sir, what did you tell Charlie it was called?”

 

He narrows his eyes at her. “As you were, Captain,” he says.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says, looking just a little bit triumphant. She turns back to the sink as Jack stalks away to the dining room to get the rest of the dinner dishes.

 

—

 

Sam is a mess on Mother’s Day. They say the first year after losing a loved one is the hardest, and sure enough, all Sam can think about is the way the sun shone through the window at the restaurant where she and her mom and her daughter got brunch together last year, and how she had felt so immensely happy. This year, Mark and the kids make lunch and cookies for Sam and Heather, and it’s a nice gesture for them to include her, but Sam feels like an intruder, and she misses her mom more than she can bear.

 

On Monday morning at work, she walks into her lab and finds a bouquet of flowers on her desk with a small note that reads, “Happy Mother’s Day to SG-1’s favorite mom.” A quick phone call to Janet confirms that she got an identical bouquet. Sam touches the soft petals of the daisies and yellow roses, and as she leans in to smell them, she feels a small smile spreading across her face.

 

Later that morning, Sam and Daniel are standing in the hallway together while Teal’c and the Colonel finish gearing up for their meet and greet with the elders on P66-5Y1.

 

“Thanks for the flowers,” she says to him. “That was really sweet.”

 

Daniel looks at her with obvious confusion for a full ten seconds before his eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says. “Right. The flowers.” Then he gives her an apologetic smile and shrugs. “That was all Jack. You probably guessed.”

 

Sam tries not to smile back. She did guess.

 

“He said the first year is the hardest?” Daniel says. “Anyway, happy Mother’s Day. Was it ok?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam says, because right at this moment, it kind of feels like it was.

 

—

 

May has been warmer than usual, but today, it’s raining. Amy looks wearily at Jack. They’re both doing their best, but she is bored.

 

“Do you have any other toys?” she asks. They’ve got their story books and their coloring books. They built a fort, they even ate lunch in the fort. But she wants to play outside, and she can’t. So she’s grasping for something else, something better, something new.

 

“We could watch a movie,” Jack tries.

 

“I don’t like movies,” Amy says quickly. Really, she doesn’t like Beauty and the Beast, and really really, she just doesn’t like to watch it. She loves to retell the stories, she loves to sing the songs, she loves to talk it to death. But actually watching it is something that’s outside of her comfort zone.

 

“I’ve got a TV magazine we can cut up and glue back together in funny pictures,” he offers. It’s almost her nap time anyway.

 

“Can I chop?” she asks, looking excited.

 

Later, when she’s napping, Jack takes a deep breath and goes downstairs to the basement. He finds the box he’s looking for right away.

 

He does have other toys.

 

Jack had told Sara, back in those early days after the first Abydos mission, that he didn’t want any of Charlie’s things. He was still reeling from his son dying and from his marriage ending and from the strange new secret he carried, one involving a faraway planet and a nuke and a dead god.

 

But Sara, in her wisdom, hadn’t taken him at his word. She’d put together a box of things and left it on his front porch, along with a note that read, “Just in case you change your mind someday.” Jack had thrown away the note but had kept the box, though he took it straight to his basement without ever opening it.

 

Until today.

 

He’s pretty sure he knows what will be inside, but that doesn’t make it easier.

 

Sure enough, right at the top is Charlie’s baseball glove. Jack had gotten it for him as a birthday present and the little boy had been so proud. Under that is a well-worn Chicago Cubs t-shirt, size small. There’s a simple model rocket they’d built together, and a framed picture of the two of them that had been in Charlie’s bedroom.

 

Jack spends the next half hour emptying the box slowly, holding each item in his hand, as if by holding something Charlie had held so many times, he might somehow reach out and touch his son. There’s a baseball, a toy truck, a trophy. There’s an alligator puppet and Charlie’s small rock collection and a picture Charlie drew in second grade of himself going fishing with his dad. There’s an assortment of books; Jack smiles as he notices a few titles that Amy loves too.

 

At the bottom of the box is one of Charlie’s favorite toys, his set of Lincoln Logs. Jack brushes his fingers reverently over the small wooden logs, notched to fit together, easy for a child to manipulate. He closes his eyes and sees the houses Charlie built with these Lincoln Logs, the train stations, the horse stables, the bridges, and of course, the log cabins. Jack nods to himself. This is what he was looking for. He packs everything else back up in the box from Sara but brings the Lincoln Logs upstairs.

 

When Carter comes by later that afternoon, he and Amy are putting the finishing touches on the small wooden structure they’re building.

 

“Hi mama!” Amy says brightly. “Look what we made!”

 

Carter smiles and hugs Amy, crouching down so she’s level with her daughter. “Lincoln Logs?” she says. She looks up at Jack. “Where did you get these?”

 

Jack, sitting on the floor with Amy, gives a half shrug. “I just… had them… around.”

 

A few weeks ago, maybe, she would’ve played dumb. But this is something they talk about now. She looks him in the eye and bites her lip. “Sir -“ she starts, but Amy cuts in.

 

“It’s a cabin!” Amy says. “A log cabin! Just like Jack’s!”

 

It’s not _just_ like Jack’s - Jack’s doesn’t have a bright orange roof, for example - but it’s roughly the same idea. And he may have pointed out to Amy where the bedrooms are, the kitchen, the door that goes out to the dock, the pond.

 

Carter hugs Amy again but holds Jack’s gaze. “I love it,” she says. She gives him a small smile.

 

“We’re going to go pretend fishing now,” Amy says. “That’s the pond.” She points to what’s left of the TV guide, which is now open and laying face down just off the back of the cabin. They even built a little dock.

 

“Actually, it’s time for us to go,” Carter says apologetically, standing up. Jack stands up too.

 

“Stay for dinner,” he says.

 

Carter looks at Amy’s hopeful face, and then at the little cabin on the floor, and then back at him. She smiles. “Ok.”

 

—

 

They do a team night in early June at the Colonel’s house. The weather is perfect and the days are long and when dinner is done, Amy says she wants to go to the park. Sam looks around the table as Daniel, Teal’c, and the Colonel nod in ascent. Park it is.

 

It’s not a long walk, maybe about ten minutes. Sam thinks to herself how rare it is for SG-1 to amble, at a pace set by an almost-three-year-old, out of formation and without so much as a whisper of a threat on the horizon. Amy is bouncing around between the four adults, trying to get two at a time to hold her hands so she can swing over the cracks in the sidewalk instead of simply stepping over them, or, god forbid, on them.

 

They’re waiting to cross a street, Amy is holding onto the Colonel with her right hand and Sam with her left. At the intersection, a red Corvette comes to a stop and revs its engine before accelerating quickly away. 

 

“Was that a real race car?” Amy asks, a hint of awe in her voice.

 

“I think it might have been,” the Colonel replies with a knowing nod.

 

“I’ve never been in a race car,” she says.

 

“Neither have I,” says the Colonel. Sam gives him a questioning look, and he clarifies, “Well, I’ve been in a Corvette.” Sam laughs and Amy swings between them over the next crack as they cross the street.

 

“And I’ve never been in a sailboat,” Amy says. She looks up at the Colonel and waits for him to express solidarity, but he just shrugs. Sam knows for a fact that he’s been on sailboats. You don’t grow up in the land of 10,000 lakes without going sailing every so often. 

 

“Neither have I,” Daniel says from behind them.

 

“Really?” Sam turns and asks.

 

Daniel shrugs. “Archaeology has me in deserts more than lakes or oceans. And before that, I was a foster kid. Sailing lessons were never on the itinerary."

 

“Huh,” Sam says, by way of acknowledgement. The park is just a block away now, behind a row of bushes. She can see the top of the swings and the canopy that’s over the slide. She’s gotten to know this park pretty well over the last year or so.

 

“And I’ve never been in a helicopter,” Amy says.

 

“Nor have I,” Teal’c replies. Sam nods to herself. That’s probably something he’ll get the chance to do one of these days.

 

Amy swings over a couple more cracks, looking thoughtful. “And I’ve never been in a rocket ship!” She looks expectantly at her mother, whose turn it is to chime in.

 

Sam freezes. Her jaw drops before she can catch it, and her eyes shoot up to the Colonel, who’s snickering at her. She looks back at Daniel and Teal’c, who also seem amused at her expense, and then back down at Amy, who’s waiting patiently for Sam to say her line. 

 

Finally, Daniel saves her. “Neither have I,” he laughs. And it’s true, Daniel came back to Earth by Stargate that time they blew up Apophis’s ship and hitched a ride home on a space shuttle. Sam shakes her head and chuckles. The Colonel reaches out and claps Sam on the shoulder like she’s just told a really funny joke. Amy seems pleased that everyone is enjoying her new game so much. 

 

They’re approaching the park now. There seems to be a game of tag happening on the big structure with the slide and the ladders and the fireman’s pole, and that’s not really Amy’s speed. The swings are open though. 

 

“I’ve never been on the big kid swings all by myself!” Amy says.

 

“Neither have I,” says the Colonel. “Wait, are we big kids?”

 

“Yeah!” she says enthusiastically.

 

“Are you sure?” the Colonel asks. “How old are you?” He and Amy are grinning at each other like a couple of idiots, because her birthday is coming up and he’s been finding a way to ask her this question every ten minutes or so.

 

“I’m almost three!” Amy shouts. “It’s almost my birthday!”

 

The Colonel nods solemnly. “I’d say that’s pretty big,” he says. Amy relinquishes her mother’s hand and skips off with him to the swings.

 

As soon as Amy is out of earshot, Sam, Teal’c and Daniel burst out laughing again.

 

“She’s going to keep getting older, and one day, she’s going to notice something, or I’m going to say something, and this whole jig will be up,” Sam says.

 

“Not today though,” Daniel says, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Not today.”

 

—

 

Sam stands outside the men’s locker room and the guys file out slowly, in the middle of a conversation about the merits of vegetables on pizza. Daniel is pro, the Colonel is con, obviously, and Teal’c can’t understand why anyone would waste time having an opinion about pizza toppings when one could simply be eating the pizza. Sam rubs absently at the crick in her neck that just won’t go away as the four of them walk to Hammond’s office. The Colonel needs to drop off some paperwork before they ship out.

 

“Party too hard last night, Captain?” he teases, though she can see the concern in his eyes.

 

“Something like that, sir,” she smiles at him. “Nightmares,” she says, and then she clarifies, “Amy.”

 

“Ah,” he says. “Let me guess… Gaston? Or the wolves?”

 

“Wolves this time,” she says. Sam really wishes Heather hadn’t let Amy watch that movie. Heather probably wishes it too. “Anyway, I went in to check on her and ended up just falling asleep in her little bed, and my neck still hasn’t quite forgiven me.”

 

They’re walking down the hallway two-by-two, with Sam and the Colonel in front, Daniel and Teal’c bringing up the rear while comparing pizza-like dishes they’ve encountered on other worlds.

 

The Colonel chuckles. “I used to do that with Charlie. It’s the best and worst night of sleep you can get.”

 

Sam huffs a laugh and nods gingerly in agreement. Amy’s bed is definitely not a good fit, but there’s something about her warm little body pressed up against Sam, her small hand holding onto Sam’s own. And Amy is never so still and peaceful as when she’s sleeping. That in and of itself is an exceptional thing to experience.

 

Behind them, Daniel and Teal’c have fallen silent. They’ve reached the briefing room, and the Colonel peels off to drop his paperwork with the General.

 

Once the Colonel is out of earshot, Daniel furrows his brows and asks, “Did he just say Charlie? As in… Charlie?”

 

Sam shrinks back a little bit. “Yeah?”

 

“Wow,” Daniel says.

 

Sam frowns. “ _Wow_?”

 

“Oh no,” Daniel says. “Not bad ‘wow.’ Good ‘wow.’ Great, actually. I’ve just never heard Jack… _ever_ , I mean, he never brings him up. Not if he can help it.” Sam tries to shrug and hopes Daniel will move on, but he doesn’t. “So you guys do this?” he continues. “You talk about Charlie?”

 

Sam suddenly feels very exposed. “Oh,” she says, feeling her cheeks start to turn pink. Talking with your commanding officer’s about his dead son is not explicitly forbidden in the Air Force, but it’s an intimacy, in its own way, and they’re definitely not supposed to be intimate. “Well, he… I mean, sometimes, we…”

 

“Oh,” Daniel says. He frowns thoughtfully. “So you two still aren’t…” he waves a hand around in the air a little, “you know…?”

 

“Daniel!” she hisses, her face now turning red.

 

“Huh,” Daniel says, looking confused.

 

The Colonel choses that moment to come back into the room. “Ok, kids,” he begins, but he stops when Daniel straightens and Sam looks down at her boots, trying very hard to will herself to stop blushing. “What?” he barks at them.

 

“Nothing, sir,” Sam says.

 

“Nothing,” Daniel says at the exact same time.

 

Teal’c, clearly unimpressed by their cover stories, lifts an eyebrow disapprovingly.

 

The Colonel also gives them a careful look before apparently deciding not to press it. “Good,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Because those rocks out there on P6A-771 aren’t going to analyze themselves.”

 

—

 

“Jack, tonight can you tell me the story about when Belle runs away from the Beast but the wolves try to bite her horse?”

 

Jack regards Amy. He can, and will, tell her this story again, if he really, really has to. But he feels like he’s worked through his own issues with that scene in Beauty and the Beast and he sure wouldn’t mind moving onto something else, anything else. “You sure that’s the story you want tonight?”

 

“Hm,” Amy says, considering her other options. Carter smirks at him. He’d bet she’s had to tell that story a couple hundred times in the last few months too. “Maybe you can tell me a Bonnie and Bessie story?”

 

“Ok,” Jack agrees readily. “You bet.” Not all of Jack’s bedtime stories are mission reports in disguise. Bonnie and Bessie are a horse and a cow that he made up. They’re best friends and they go on adventures. Jack and Amy often make the story up together as they go.

 

“What’s the story going to be about?” Amy asks. Jack stands up and grabs her empty plate and Carter’s and stacks them on top of his to start clearing the dinner table.

 

“Don’t know yet,” he says. “I guess we’ll see.” As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with wolves or Gaston, he really doesn’t care.

 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Carter muses as she rises from the table too and collects everyone’s glasses. “I can’t make stories up on the fly like that.”

 

“Oh, it’s easy,” Jack says. “The trick is, just don’t think. At all. Don’t try to plan ahead. Just open your mouth and start talking.”

 

Carter laughs at him. It’s something she doesn’t ever do at work, this blatant burst of laughter, right in his face, but for some reason, he likes it. It’s a good look on her. “That does seem to be a particular strength of yours, sir,” she says.

 

“Carter, I’m not sure if you intended that as a compliment, but I’m going to take it as one,” he replies with a grin.

 

After he puts Amy to bed, he grabs a beer from the fridge and joins Carter out on her deck. It’s a really nice night, with the sun just sinking below the horizon. Jack looks around the yard. “So how about that swing set?” He’d asked her this once before, almost a year ago. Maybe it’s time now.

 

She’s quiet for a moment, then she turns to him. “You think we could do it by the 27th?” she asks. It would be the perfect birthday present.

 

“I think we could do anything,” he says.

 

—

 

They can do anything, including, apparently, time travel.

 

SG-1 travels 30 years back in time to 1969. The Colonel insists they can figure out how to get home, and Sam thinks it might be impossible, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. So Sam pushes from her mind the myriad thoughts, concerns and possibilities associated with them staying here for good, and she gets to work. She’ll figure this out.

 

And she does. The Colonel and Teal’c are able to confirm her theory about solar flares and Daniel is able to get in touch with a young Catherine Langford and discover the location of the Stargate.

 

By some miracle, they find it in time. And by an even more incomprehensible miracle, they’re able to get enough juice to the gate to fire it up using jumper cables hooked up to two military transport vehicles. Teal’c and Daniel manually dial the symbols for P2X-555, not that they plan on going there. They just need to retrace their route, exactly, and their timing has to be absolutely precise.

 

The wormhole explodes out into the armory just as the security guards aim their weapons. SG-1 is outnumbered and outgunned, even if their gun is a zat.

 

“We have got to go,” the Colonel says.

 

“Sir, the timing has to be exact,” Sam reminds him. “Just a few more seconds.”

 

“It’s going to have to be close enough,” he says.

 

It’s not.

 

Sam knows - she hopes, at least - that making it through the gate a few seconds too early is better than not making it through at all, better than getting shot, better than getting stuck in 1969 forever. So she doesn’t argue further, she follows her team into the shimmering blue event horizon and reemerges… somewhere.

 

It’s the gate room, so it must be Earth, but it’s definitely not 1999. The room is empty, devoid of people and stripped bare. A sense of eeriness begins to creep into Sam as she looks around. She can’t imagine what kind of future would’ve rendered the gate room and the gate itself so needless that it would be abandoned like this. More than that, she can’t imagine what they will do now, how they will ever get back to where they were supposed to be. There’s no dialing computer, no technicians, no DHD, just nothing.

 

The Colonel must feel it too, because he’s already making a dumb joke. “Auntie Em? Auntie Em?” he calls to the empty room. If only this were somehow just a dream.

 

They are alone. They are without resources. Sam doesn’t even have a mysterious note tucked in her pocket to get herself and her team out of trouble this time. They are quite possibly trapped. They don’t even have food and water on them.

 

But before she can follow this train of thought too much further, there’s movement in the corner of the room. A door opens, and through the door comes an elderly woman dressed in a crisp, navy blue suit, her long hair pulled into a low ponytail. There’s a smile on her face, an extraordinarily familiar smile.

 

“Hello, Jack.”

 

The Colonel spins around to face her and the strange woman’s smile only widens as he gapes. She even laughs. “Teal’c? Daniel? I hardly recognize you with hair!”

 

Daniel reaches absently for his hair as Sam blinks. It can’t be. Can it?

 

The Colonel clears his throat and straightens. “Do we know you?” he asks.

 

Only then does the woman turn her gaze directly on Sam, and Sam gasps. “You will recognize me,” the woman says assuredly.

 

Sam does.

 

This woman, she looks just like Jane Carter, but she’s older by decades than Jane ever got to be, and her long grey hair isn’t straight, it’s curly. Her blue eyes sparkle at Sam as Sam’s own eyes mist over.

 

“Oh my god, Amy!” She steps quickly over to where Amy is standing and pulls her into her arms.

 

“Mom,” Amy says, returning the embrace.

 

“You got old,” Sam whispers into her curly hair. It’s always been Sam’s fear that the Goa’uld would attack and the planet would be lost, or the Springs would be lost, or her family, or in some other way the world would end, and Amy’s life would be shining but brief. But here Amy is, an old woman. Sam can’t believe the relief she feels, that for whatever decisions she made, whatever she did right and whatever she did wrong, Amy survived it.

 

Amy chuckles into Sam’s hair. “I did,” she says.

 

It’s so strange and so comforting at the same time, this woman who is her daughter but feels like her mother, who knows about the Stargate and about time travel, something Sam herself hardly knows about at all. Sam thinks she could stay forever in this embrace. But she feels someone tapping her on the shoulder. It’s the Colonel.

 

“Excuse me,” he says. “Isn’t Amy two?”

 

Amy scowls playfully. It’s a face Sam has seen her make at him a hundred times, and it’s uncanny. Even the Colonel’s eyebrows raise and he takes a half a step back. “I’m almost three,” she says, “in your time.”

 

Sam still has her hands on Amy’s arms. She can’t bring herself to stop touching her. “How do you know that?”

 

“You,” Amy says to her. She glances briefly at the Colonel and then continues. “When I was old enough to understand, you explained to me what happened in 1969, how you entered the Stargate a few seconds too soon, and the solar flare threw you far into the future. You told me I would be the one to send you back home, where you belong.”

 

“Like a self-fulfilling prophesy,” Sam muses, and Amy nods. This is incredible. Time travel. Amy, old. Sam has about a million more questions she wants to ask, like when, exactly, are they right now? Why is the Stargate in disuse? And more importantly, Amy: is she happy? Has she had a good life? Does she think Sam made the right choices? What choices did Sam make, after 1999?

 

“Mom,” Amy says, holding Sam’s gaze with a smile that’s as happy as it is sad. “You have to go now.”

 

Sam’s eyes tear up again as her hands fly to Amy’s face. She brushes her cheek, pats her hair, she touches her shoulder and runs a hand down her arm. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Amy, please, there must be some way, there’s so much to talk about.“

 

“You of all people know I can’t,” Amy says. She squeezes Sam’s hands and looks like she wants to say more, so much more. She steals another glance at the Colonel and sighs. “The timing must be precise. You have to go.”

 

“Oh Amy,” Sam says, pulling her daughter into another hug. “I love you,” she whispers fiercely into her ear.

 

“I know,” Amy says. When she pulls back from the hug, her own eyes are glistening. “I’ve always known that. I love you too, mom.” She smiles again, that sad and happy smile. She’s got one hand still on Sam’s arm, and with the other hand, she reaches for the Colonel and gives his hand a squeeze. “It’s good to see you, Jack,” she says, her voice breaking a little.

 

Then Amy takes a step back from them and lifts her hand, and Sam just now notices the strange device she’s holding, shiny and gold and elegant with a green stone in the center. Amy runs her finger around the green stone and as it lights up, the wormhole activates behind them. Sam turns to look; there’s no sound, no kawoosh, just the shimmering blue surface Sam has come to know so well. Then she turns back to her daughter one more time.

 

“I will tell you this,” Amy says. She looks at Teal’c, then at Daniel, and then she faces Sam and the Colonel, who are still standing next to each other in front of her. “Your journey is just beginning.”

 

Sam can’t fathom what this means, but she nods at her daughter anyway, and gives her one last smile, trying to imbue it with as much meaning and love as possible. Then, with great difficulty, she turns away and steps toward the event horizon.

 

“Well,” the Colonel says over his shoulder as he tips his baseball cap in Amy’s direction, “I guess we’ll be seeing you, kid.” His characteristic nonchalance is strangely grounding to Sam as she steps through the gate, away from her daughter but towards, of course, her daughter.

 

She can’t be totally sure, but as she feels the familiar tug of the wormhole take her in, Sam thinks she hears Amy’s quiet reply.

 

Amy. Amy gets old.

 

 


	24. Into the Fire

Sam has known for a long time now that she’s in love with Colonel O’Neill. She tells herself it’s probably to be expected, given the sheer amount of time they spend together, the way he’s been there for her this last year, the way he cares for her daughter. And then of course there’s his voice, his eyes, his jawline, and oh god, all the rest of him…

 

She is further well aware that they spend too much time together outside of work, that she’s far too accustomed to having lunch with him, or dinner, or a drink after Amy’s sleeping, that she knows the layout of his kitchen too well and that he understands how her garage is organized far better than he should, given their ranks and working relationship.

 

She knows she can keep herself in check and she believes, as much as she ever lets herself entertain thoughts about it at all, that this doesn’t have to be a problem, this, her being in love with her CO.

 

But it’s not until they’re captured and trapped in Hathor’s compound, and he pulls her up against a wall and holds her body close to his to conceal her from a passing guard that she realizes how very, very much she _wants_ him.

 

It strange, because her life is in danger, shouldn’t she be focused on that? But in this moment, all she can think about is his chest pressed up against her back, his arms wrapped around her waist, his hot breath on her neck, the million points of contact between their legs, and how badly she wishes they were alone, and wearing significantly less clothing. And she’s a little bit horrified, because isn’t this exactly why you’re not supposed to fall in love with your CO? People get stupid when they’re thinking about sex instead of how to not get killed by Jaffa.

 

But the moment passes, the guards move on, he lets her go. She breathes heavily and hopes that, if he notices, he attributes it to adrenaline and not arousal. Then she does what she does best, she gets her shit together and follows his lead.

 

It’s a little harder than she’d like to forget about the incident at Hathor’s compound. In fact, she finds herself thinking of it often. Sam is quite capable of taking care of things herself when she feels a need for something she can’t have, and almost three years into being a single parent, she’s definitely used to not having sex. But lately, her fantasies have been oddly specific, even as she tries very hard not to put a face to the body she imagines behind her.

 

It’s Sunday now, two weeks since they got back from the compound and just under a week until Amy’s 3rd birthday party. The Colonel is out in the yard, placing the beam that will constitute the crossbar for Amy’s new swing set. Sam is coming out of the house, having just put Amy down for her nap, and she watches him wipe the sweat from his brow with his forearm, his muscles tight and his arms and neck glistening in the afternoon sun as his eyes squint against it. She catches her breath.

 

“What?” he says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Sam swallows hard. “I was just… um, are you sure it’s level?” It’s definitely level. But what else is she supposed to say?

 

The Colonel shrugs, looks up and the beam, and then bends over to pick up his level, presenting Sam with a perfect view of his perfect ass. She groans and turns away.

 

It’ll get better, she tells herself. It’s only been a couple weeks. She’ll be able to put this behind her soon enough. Just not yet, apparently.

 

He places the level on top of the beam, and of course, it’s fine. He waves his arms and says, “Are you going to stand there watching me work, or are you going to come help me bolt this in?”

 

She should talk to him, she knows she should, maybe not specifically about how she wants to have sex with him, but about everything else, about this thing that they’re doing, this thing they fell into where they spend all their free time at each other’s houses and she has to keep correcting Daniel and Teal’c when one of them implies that she and the Colonel are together. This thing where he knows what kind of paper towel she buys and she knows where in his kitchen he keeps his cheese grater. This thing where his mere presence makes her feel excited and terrified, grounded and alight, peaceful and on fire. This thing where she’s in love.

 

She should talk to him, but she has no idea how. She should’ve talked to him months ago, really, before she got in so deep. She should’ve talked to him before it was too late.

 

—

 

June 26th, the day that marks three years since Charlie died, falls on a Monday this year. Carter asks him, the weekend before, if he plans to do anything that day. Jack scoffs and almost asks her if getting blind drunk and passing out on his own floor counts as “doing something.” But she’s got that look on her face, intense and sincere, and her eyes are so blue, and he’s not really going to drink until he passes out anyway.

 

“We could do something,” she says. “Not a big something. Just… we could cook something he liked for dinner, or get his favorite kind of ice cream or something.”

 

Jack stares at her for a long moment until he registers that she’s starting to look uncomfortable. Then he shakes his head and tells her he doesn’t want to do anything different, he just wants it to be a normal day. She nods and drops it.

 

But on the morning of June 26th, Jack pops into his office - something he usually does at least once a day, however much he pretends not to know he has an office - and there, sitting on is desk, is a toy train and a small bouquet of dandelions. Jack swallows thickly as he blinks at the tribute there before him. He thinks about his son, about toy trains littering the floor and Halloween costumes and sunshine and summer flowers, and he takes a deep breath in and out.

 

Then he joins his team in the commissary for their usual morning coffee and Carter doesn’t say a single word about it, and neither does he, but he feels a little bit less like hell than he’d thought he would today.

 

—

 

The new swing set is ready in time for Amy’s birthday party, and it’s a big hit. Sam had perused the hardware store’s DIY backyard playgrounds for a while and then had gone home and drawn up her own sketch for a structure that incorporates all the best elements. There are swings, at the heart of it. There’s a slide on one end and an elevated fort on the other. There are monkey bars coming off the back of the platform for the slide, and a fireman’s pole exit from the fort. A rope ladder swings off the side of the fort and a red and yellow striped canopy adorns the top. This juiced up model ended up being a lot more work than Sam had expected, but the Colonel hadn’t complained. In fact, he seemed to agree that each of her augmentations was absolutely essential to Amy’s future happiness. 

 

Now a pile of his tools sits in the garage on top of the pile of his painting supplies and drop cloths.

 

As Sam watches the birthday girl, the now officially three-year-old Amy Carter, fly up the ladder and zip down the slide and hang on the monkey bars and swing on the swings, she knows all their work was absolutely worth it.

 

“This is my best birthday ever!” she says, hugging her mom and then hugging the Colonel, who’s standing next to Sam on the deck. Mark is on the other side of him, the two of them had been talking baseball. Mark is serious about everything, and he’s extra serious about major league sports. Heather is talking with Janet and Daniel over by the new play set, where Kyle has been going down the slide face-first and Cassie is pushing Gus on a swing. Amy is learning how to pump all by herself, but Gus prefers to be pushed. Teal’c is making what appears to be a very thorough inspection of the entire new structure.

 

It’s a repeat of last year’s guest list, with one person missing.

 

Sam gets tears in her eyes when Amy is opening presents and one of them, from her aunt and uncle, is a framed picture of Jane Carter with her three grandchildren. Everyone in the photograph is smiling beautifully, as everyone at the birthday party now catches their breath.

 

“Oh, Heather,” Sam says, stepping across the room to give her sister-in-law a hug as Amy gently brushes her fingers over her Nana’s smiling face.

 

Amy moves on to the next present but Sam isn’t quite over this one. Next to her, of course he’s next to her, the Colonel nudges her ever so softly. Then he turns his head a bit in her direction and she can see a question in his eyes: _you ok?_

 

Sam nods quickly and wipes at her eyes. His hand reaches over and squeezes her arm and she takes a deep, steadying breath.

 

—

 

It doesn’t help that he’s touching her more too, and not just the full body press or the desperate, post-cryogenic stasis tank hug back at Hathor’s compound. Maybe he’s not touching her more, maybe she’s just noticing it more. She might be touching him more too. It’s nothing big, it’s never _touching_ touching, but Sam remembers every single instance, she catalogues them in her mind and turns over them later, looking for clues as to whether this is something he’s doing on purpose.

 

There’s the nudging and the arm squeeze at Amy’s birthday party. There’s a hand on her shoulder as he brushes past her in the briefing room. There are a million small touches and near-touches as they move past each other in the kitchen, putting dinner on plates or clearing the table or washing the dishes. She feels the heat and senses the weight of his body when he sits down next to her in the commissary at lunch while Daniel is telling a story.

 

She turns over other things in her mind too, wonders what other kinds of nudging and squeezing he might be skilled at. Those hands of his, they’re mesmerizing, never still, his fingers always fidgeting, tapping, moving. It’s not hard to imagine that his fingers can do all sorts of things. It’s not hard at all.

 

She could talk to him, of course, she could ask him what he means by all of this. She could ask him what the hell they’re doing, what the hell he thinks he’s doing with her.

 

But she _likes_ these touches. A lot. They feel as natural to her as they feel elicit, and she doesn’t know which aspect of it appeals to her more. She doesn’t want to lose the touches. She’s afraid that if she ever decided to force the issue, she might lose the touches and a whole lot more.

 

And it’s not hurting anything, exactly. It’s a little bit torturous for her, sometimes, but in a way that’s just as pleasurable as it is painful. At work, she’s the perfect soldier, as she’s always been. SG-1 is the perfect unit, she and the Colonel are the perfect military team.

 

So with great discipline, she stares straight ahead, across the lunch table at Daniel, as the Colonel’s hand brushes against hers. He’s swiping one of her fries, and it’s ok, because she mostly got them for him anyway. She only wanted a couple, and he’s politely waited until she’s clearly moved onto her fruit bowl before beginning his not-so-subtle conquest of her leftovers. She feels a little shiver and she knows he’s peeking at her, but she forces a smile at Daniel and wills herself to pay attention to the anecdote he’s telling about a dig he went on in the early 90s, was it? But she can’t help but grit her teeth as, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Colonel start reaching his hand out for another fry.

 

—

 

Jacob is in town to catch a Goa’uld, and Selmak is in town to make amends with Mark. They go on their mission, an earth-bound mission to Washington state, and when Sam calls her dad “Dad,” the Colonel calls him “Dad” too, and Jacob just smirks as Daniel and Teal’c, again, exchange a glance. She’s in love with him and he keeps touching her and now he calls her dad “Dad.”

 

But the mission is successful, and the reunion with Mark is good. It was needed, and overdue, and heartfelt. Jacob can’t tell him anything, really, not about Selmak or the Tok’ra or the work he’s doing now, nothing about where he’s been for the last eight months or where he’s going next or how long he’ll be gone this time. But he can tell him that he’s sorry, that he loves him.

 

After they leave Mark’s house, with Amy in tow, they go home.

 

Jacob walks through the door and looks around. “New couches,” he says.

 

Sam nods. “Old couches,” she says. “Amy.”

 

“Ah,” he says.

 

They go on through to the kitchen. “I like the paint,” he says. “Good color.”

 

Mercifully, Amy does not mention how she helped.

 

He stands at the sliding glass door and gazes outside while Sam makes dinner. “The yard looks nice,” he says, and Sam smiles to herself as she puts raw chicken in a hot pan to sear. “I know it’s a lot of work.” It is a lot of work, but she’s not exactly doing it by herself. “That new swing and slide thing out there… your mom would’ve gotten a real kick out of that.”

 

Sam blinks back tears as she washes her hands in the sink and checks the temperature on the pan.

 

After dinner, Sam takes Amy upstairs for bedtime and Jacob goes with them.

 

“You’re still in the guest room?” he asks, and Sam sighs. He’d told her, months ago, to move into the master bedroom, but she just can’t.

 

“All of mom’s stuff…” she says, trailing off and trying to keep herself from tearing up, again. She wonders how long it will be before she stops crying anytime anyone so much as mentions her mom. “It was too hard,” she says finally. Too soon, too much. Too hard.

 

“Ok,” he says. “You’re right.” He takes a deep breath and looks around a little. “That’s something I should do, isn’t it?” He nods, as if agreeing with himself. Sam wonders if maybe he’s agreeing with Selmak.

 

“I could help,” she says quietly. She can’t do it herself, but she could help.

 

Jacob puts his hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Ok, kiddo,” he says. “It’s a deal.”

 

—

 

Sam loves her dad and is immensely grateful to be able to spend time with him, so she feels no small amount of guilt over how much she wishes he would temporally disappear come Wednesday. A certain newly-three-year-old has certain expectations about how they usually spend their Wednesday evenings, and to say Jacob Carter would disapprove is putting is very, very mildly.

 

So she’s relieved when, Wednesday morning after their meeting about what’s to become of the assorted artifacts recovered from Seth’s compound, the Colonel hangs back and walks with her in the direction of her lab and proposes an idea.

 

“How about a team night tonight?” he says.

 

Sam nearly slumps in relief. Team night. Why didn’t she think of that?

 

“Might be nice for your dad to get a chance to hang out with all of us,” he continues, “and I think the guys would really be into it too.”

 

Sam straightens up again. Is this an intentional plan to use Daniel and Teal’c as cover, or is he really just going for a little SG-1-Tok’ra bonding time? Because he’s not wrong, the guys really would be into it. Daniel would be chomping at the bit to spend time with a representative of Earth’s most enigmatic ally, and as for Teal’c, as recently as a year ago, he thought the Tok’ra were merely a legend.

 

“That’s a great idea,” she says. Either way, it is.

 

“Your place?” he says. “Or mine? I’m happy to host, I just know Amy -“

 

“My place,” she agrees. “That’s great. Great idea.”

 

—

 

Jack moves quickly and efficiently around Carter’s kitchen. The chicken is already marinating, and the grill is preheating. Now he needs to get the potatoes ready. Jack doesn’t want his inviting Daniel and Teal’c over to add to Carter’s work load for tonight, especially since she’s already got her dad in town, so he’s trying to get as much done in the kitchen as he can before the rest of SG-1 shows up.

 

Carter and Amy went upstairs a little while ago to use the bathroom or something, he’s not sure what. Amy is usually chatty to a sometimes excessive degree with people she knows and likes, but around new people, she can be quite shy, and to her, Jacob is a new person. Jack suspects the extended potty break is really just a chance for Amy to collect herself.

 

Jacob is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching Jack work. A year ago, the intensity of Jacob’s gaze might have made Jack uncomfortable, but he’s recently decided that if Jacob is going to ask him to do his Christmas shopping, then he’s not going to feel intimidated by him, even if Jacob is an Air Force General, and a Tok’ra, and Carter’s dad. In fact, since Jacob arrived, Jack has been going out of his way to act overly familiar with the guy, perhaps to compensate for their admittedly rocky start.

 

Jack grabs a cutting board from its hiding spot between the fridge and the knife block, and then he grabs a knife, the good one, and gets to work on the potatoes.

 

Jacob is staring at him like he’s never seen anyone slice potatoes before, but Jack doesn’t mind. He’s actually glad they’ve got a moment alone.

 

“You seem to know your way around this kitchen,” Jacob observes.

 

Jack chuckles a little to himself at the veiled accusation. “You know,” he says, “people say Sam Carter is a genius, but storing the cutting board by the knives? That’s really something else.”

 

Jacob snorts, which Jack interprets as a point in his favor, so he turns the conversation to what he really wants to talk about.

 

“I’ve been wondering, Jacob, how’s Charlie? The kid from the whole… invisible Reetou thing.”

 

Jack keeps his eyes on the knife and the potatoes. He doesn’t know how much Carter’s dad knows about him, about him and kids named Charlie.

 

Jacob shifts on his feet. “He’s good. It was an adjustment, for everyone. Some of these Tok’ra, god, they open their mouths and right away you can tell they’ve been doing the same thing the same way for at least a couple hundred years.” Jacob’s body language is tense, and Jack can imagine it must be frustrating for a man of action like Jacob, and a snake of action like Selmak, to continually have to convince the others that it might be a good idea to try something new.

 

“He’s been assigned a mentor,” Jacob continues. “He’s got the symbiote, of course, but I thought it might be helpful for him to have a designated human too.” Jack nods. A designated human would be nice, and, like, some toys or a swing set or something. Jack doesn’t imagine the Tok’ra do birthday parties. Then again, the Reetou probably didn’t either. “The council denied my request to be his mentor,” Jacob roll his eyes and Jack cracks a smile. Jack often feels the same way about people who make decisions regarding his own professional work. “But they gave him a good one, Kelmaa. She’s really sweet. She’s a little too sweet to be very good with the undercover stuff, actually, but this is right up her alley.

 

Jack nods. He reaches over to the drawer next to the sink, grabs the aluminum foil, pulls out a nice long sheet and dumps the potatoes on top of it. “But physically? I mean, he recovered? From… everything?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Jacob replies. “It took a while. But it probably helped a lot that the Goa’uld didn’t attack in the middle of the blending.” Jacob and Jack share a smile at that memory and Jack turns back to the potatoes, tossing them in oil and salt and pepper before closing up the foil wrapping.

 

“He asks about you,” Jacob says, and Jack’s heart nearly skips a beat.

 

“Yeah,” he says, feeling no small among of guilt. “The US Air Force was not all that interested in me using the gate for personal travel.” Jack had asked about going to see the kid, but the answer was a big, fat, “maybe later,” which is bureaucratic code for no.

 

“Well, the Tok’ra aren’t all that interested in entertaining social calls anyway,” Jacob replies. “Charlie knows that. At least, his symbiote does. He just asks about you sometimes.”

 

Jack clears his throat quietly before speaking. “What do you tell him?”

 

“That you’re doing fine. That you care about him.” Jacob shrugs. “I tell him you’re friends with my daughter, and I think that helps him feel a little more, I don’t know, connected.”

 

Jack nods and swallows. He picks up the potatoes, all wrapped in foil, and starts moving toward the sliding door that will take him out to the deck and the grill. He needs to get these things cooking. Daniel and Teal’c will be here any minute, and where are Amy and Carter anyway?

 

Jacob grabs Jack’s arm as he passes him on his way to the deck. “Hey,” he says. “I hear we did alright at Christmas.”

 

Jack raises his eyebrows and tries to reclaim some of the smug familiarity he’d felt earlier, before talking and thinking about little Reetou Charlie. “I had heard the same,” he says.

 

“I hear,” Jacob continues, “you made some adjustments to the original mission as it was assigned.” Jacob had said to get one thing for each of Amy’s cousins, but Jack had gotten a whole bunch of things for, well, everyone, because it made more sense and because it was fun.

 

“With respect, sir,” Jack says, “the mission parameters were misaligned with the mission objective. I made the adjustments I felt were necessary.”

 

Jacob grins at him. “Well you were right,” he says. “So what do I owe you?”

 

Jack tilts his head a little bit to the side and thinks for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet.”

 

“I meant money,” Jacob clarifies.

 

“I know what you meant,” Jack says, smirking as he walks off to the grill.

 

—

 

After dinner, Jack and Jacob are clearing the table while Daniel and Teal’c do the dishes and Carter gets Amy ready for bed.

 

“You work well together,” Jacob says to him in a somewhat quieter voice than usual.

 

“Well, you know SG-1,” Jack replies. “There’s no Goa’uld we can’t conquer, no kitchen we can’t… tidy up.”

 

Jacob gives him a funny smile. “Uh huh,” he says.

 

—

 

After her teammates leave and Amy goes to sleep, Sam and her dad sit out on the deck, looking up at the stars. Dinner tonight went really well. After losing her mom last year, and nearly losing her dad, and then functionally losing him to the Tok’ra, Sam feels a rush of gratitude at the the simple act of sitting around a table enjoying a good meal with him and Amy and her teammates.

 

“I’m glad the guys could come over while you’re here,” Sam says after long minutes of peaceful quiet.

 

“Yeah,” Jacob agrees. “Jack sure knows how to work a grill.”

 

“Mmm,” Sam hums in agreement. He definitely does. She probably wouldn’t have even taken the grill out of the garage this summer if not for him.

 

Jacob is quiet again for a moment, and then he says, “You make one hell of a team, you know.”

 

“Well, you know SG-1,” she replies. It’s literally their job to be one hell of a team.

 

Jacob raises his eyebrows at her and and leans back in his chair, a smile on his face. “Uh huh,” he says.

 

—

 

Sam cashes in on some of the vacation time she’s got piled up during the week and a half that Jacob is home, and the world doesn’t end, it doesn’t even try. They get a lot of work done on the house, work on the things her mom left behind, the kind of work that even the Colonel can’t help with.

 

Amy, after an initial shy period, warms up to her grandpa completely. Sam feels quite sure Amy has let slip more than a couple things about the Colonel and the time they spend together, the level of familiarity she has with him, but to Sam, it’s a small price to pay to see Amy spending time with her only remaining grandparent.

 

When it’s time for Jacob to leave, he gives Sam a long, lingering hug in the gate room. He looks like a Tok’ra again, clad in their strange outfits, but he looks like her dad still too.

 

“You’re doing a great job, Sam,” he says into her hair. “You keep it up, ok? I’ll see you again soon.” He pulls back and pats her shoulder heartily.

 

“Ok,” she says, though she knows he can’t know for sure. It helps to believe it anyway. It helps them both. “Bye, Dad.” She gives him one more squeeze and steps back, in line with her teammates in front of the active Stargate.

 

“Yeah, bye, Dad,” the Colonel mimics in that only-half-sarcastic tone of his. Sam can’t believe her dad tolerates this, but he does, he grins and pulls the Colonel into a quick hug too, which seems to surprise even him. Then he pats Daniel warmly on the shoulder and clasps Teal’c’s forearm.

 

“Until we meet again,” he says with a quick salute to Hammond in the control room. And with that, he steps back through the gate.

 

—

 

Mark and Heather have decided that Gus isn’t ready for preschool. He’s three and a half now, and Amy’s three, so both of them _could_ go, though neither one is obligated. Gus is a bright little kid, and definitely a sweet one, but he’s absolutely a homebody. He likes his routine and he likes his mom and his parents don’t see a need to upset that balance at the moment.

 

“If you want Amy to start preschool now, that’s fine with me,” Heather assures Sam one evening when she’s picking Amy up. “It’s no problem for me to drop her off and pick her up.” It would only be for a couple hours a day, so Amy would still be spending the bulk of her day with Heather.

 

But Sam balks at the idea of introducing new adults into Amy’s life, adults who might wonder about Sam’s unconventional work hours and sometimes-extended absences. Heather has been generously understanding, in the way that family sometimes is - she doesn’t ask questions and she supports unconditionally. Sam knows that Amy will start school someday, and that eventually there will be teachers and parents who try to make conversation with her about her job, or ask her about where she’s been and why. But Sam is just not ready for that yet.

 

Besides, she can’t see Amy getting excited about doing something Gus isn’t excited about doing. Those two are usually pretty in sync.

 

Still, the question of preschool nags her. It’s the start of Amy’s formal education, the first in a long line of many things Sam might potentially mess up.

 

“Just because It’s convenient for you doesn’t automatically make it the wrong decision,” Janet says to her over a rare lunch together at work on a Tuesday. “You’re not actually required to feel guilty about everything. It’s just preschool.”

 

Sam takes another bite of her jello and considers this. It seems like such a radical concept, choosing not to feel guilty.

 

“You know I’m right,” Janet says.

 

“You’re right,” Sam admits. Janet hasn’t been a mother as long as Sam has, but her daughter is older, and she has learned very quickly about things like decisions and consequences and guilt.

 

Janet gives her an understanding smile. She and Sam spend some time together outside of work every now and then with their daughters, who seem to both love being sweet to each other. But Sam and Janet themselves hardly ever have time to grab lunch together at work, let alone hang out without their kids.

 

“Hey,” Janet says as she wipes her mouth with her napkin and then crumples it up, throwing it on her tray. “Cassie’s started babysitting. She could watch Amy some night, and you and I could go get a drink or something. What do you think?”

 

“I think that sounds amazing,” Sam says. Sam never gets a babysitter for Amy, not that she’s ever needed to. And she hates the idea of imposing on Mark and Heather for something not work-related. Cassie would be perfect.

 

“Great!” Janet says. “Tomorrow maybe?” 

 

Sam freezes as Janet drinks the rest of her glass of water and stacks her utensils on top of her now-empty plate. Today is Tuesday. Tomorrow is…

 

“Um,” Sam says. But since when can she not talk to Janet about things? Janet is her friend. Why shouldn’t she be able to tell Janet that Colonel O’Neill usually comes over on Wednesdays for dinner? _Because you know it’s wrong,_ a voice in her head says. Sam narrows her eyes in thought, or maybe in annoyance at that inconvenient voice.

 

“Wait, not tomorrow,” Janet says. “I forgot, I’m lecturing at the Academy on Thursday, and I haven’t even started putting it together.” Janet huffs out a breath of air and makes a face, though of course they both know she’s never had any trouble commanding the attention of a room full of people, even an Academy lecture hall full of hot-shot cadets.

 

“What are you lecturing on?” Sam asks, grateful for the change in topic and for being off the hook.

 

“Oh, you know,” Janet says. “They want me to talk about diagnosing foreign pathogens, but of course, I can’t use any of the really _good_ examples.

 

Just then, Janet gets paged over the intercom, something about SG-8, which just returned from PY2-008. She rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in the air. “Well, at least we got through lunch,” she says, and Sam smiles. Janet may be running into battle now but Sam feels like she dodged a bullet, at least for now.

 

—

 

The real problem, Sam decides, is how he’s always licking his lips. All the damn time. Are his lips really that dry? She thinks she should carry around a small bottle of water just for him, or some chapstick, or something, but instead, she just stares as his tongue darts out and caresses his own lower lip.

 

And the worst part is that he seems to lick his lips more often when he’s deep in thought, or when he’s about to make a difficult command decision, or some other such time when it’s particularly unhelpful for Sam to be so fixated on his lips.

 

It’s the sweetest kind of torture, but it is definitely torture.

 

She decides the water bottle would actually be a very bad idea when they get back from P9Y-943, a very windy, very sandy planet, and somewhere between the gate room and the infirmary, he snags a bottle of water.

 

“Have I ever mentioned that I hate desert planets?” he grouses as the four of them flop down onto chairs in the infirmary, awaiting their blood draws. He twists the top off the bottle, the muscles in his forearms flexing under his tanned skin. Then he lifts the bottle to his mouth, and as his lips close around it, Sam has to fight to keep herself from licking her own lips.

 

He drinks half the bottle in one go, and then holds it out to her. She blinks at him.

 

“How are you not thirsty right now?” he asks after she fails to respond for a moment too long. He turns to his other side and passes the bottle to Daniel.

 

Sam is thirsty, she’s definitely thirsty. But that particular bottle of water only made it worse.

 

—

 

Instead of preschool, Heather signs Gus and Amy up for soccer through the Colorado Springs parks department. The classes, if one could call them that, are on Friday mornings for a half hour, and from what Sam understands, they mostly consist of a bunch of three and four-year-olds running around a field, sometimes paying attention to a ball, mostly not. To hear Heather tell it, it’s equal parts adorable and hilarious.

 

So, when SG-1 is on downtime one Friday, Sam mentions to the Colonel ahead of time that she plans to go watch Amy play soccer. Of course he’s been hearing all about it from Amy every Wednesday and Saturday lately, so he’s interested.

 

“You think Amy would mind if I stopped by too?” he asks. It’s this funny dance they do, where both of them refuse to make a direct invitation, they just drop hints and invoke Amy and eventually they get around to agreeing to do something together. Sam is used to it by now.

 

“I think she’d love to see you there,” Sam replies.

 

On Friday morning, the Colonel is already waiting for them at the park where soccer takes place, leaning against his truck and looking entirely too sexy for what’s supposed to be a day off. Sam easily notices some of the other soccer moms checking him out; she wonders if he notices too. They’re a little early, and Sam doesn’t see Heather’s car anywhere, but she and Gus are probably not far off.

 

Amy runs and greets the Colonel with a big, excited hug. She’s totally keyed up to have both of them coming to watch her play soccer today. Then she grabs onto him with one hand and onto Sam with the other and leads them over to the soccer field, where a young woman with a bright yellow shirt and a very perky ponytail greets her brightly.

 

“Amy!” she says, making a check mark on the clipboard in her hand. “You ready to play some soccer today?”

 

Amy giggles and jumps and grips Sam and the Colonel’s hands to swing herself back and forth between them. “That’s Miss Lisa!” she finally manages to say. Sam and the Colonel share a grin at her antics. Amy is usually an excitable little kid, but this is over the top, even for her.

 

Miss Lisa looks up and treats Sam and the Colonel to the same bright smile she’d just given Amy. It must be part of the job description for a little kids’ soccer coach, Sam muses.

 

“Hey hey,” Miss Lisa says to Amy, “is this your mom and dad?”

 

Sam’s jaw drops, she can feel her face go white. Amy has never asked about her dad before, not once, and no one has ever asked Amy about it either, at least not in front of Sam. Sam is desperate to say something, anything, to dispel this awful moment wherein Amy realizes, for the first time in her three years of life, that she’s supposed to have a dad but doesn’t.

 

But Amy, still bouncing and still holding both of their hands, seems completely unperturbed.

 

“Nope,” she chirps in reply. “This is my mom and my Jack.”

 

Sam feels her face now quickly turn red. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that the Colonel is practically beaming.

 

“Right on!” Miss Lisa says, she holds up a hand and Amy gives her a high five and giggles again.

 

At that moment, out of nowhere, Gus and Heather appear. Kyle just started first grade, so he’s in school all day, and not with them now.

 

“Heya Gus!” Miss Lisa says with tremendous enthusiasm, and she holds up her hand for Gus to high five too, which he does. “You ready to play some soccer?”

 

“I’m ready!” he shouts.

 

“I’m ready I’m ready!!” Amy practically shrieks, and off they both run to join the kids already on the field.

 

Heather greets both Sam and the Colonel with a smile and a hug, which startles Sam but doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. In fact, none of this seems to be bothering him. While Sam is all tied up about how he touches her and calls her dad “Dad” and licks his lips and fits in like family, he doesn’t seems to think it’s a problem at all.

 

So why should she?

 

There are regulations, _of course_ there are regulations. And they’re skirting them, maybe, sort of, but it’s not affecting her work, is it? And they’re not hurting anybody, right? Sam looks at Amy, all smiles and sunshine, her cheeks already flushed and her curly hair already escaping its ponytail. They’re making Amy really happy, that’s what they’re doing. And the Colonel seems to be kind of happy too. And he’s the commanding officer, after all. Who is she to question his decisions? Never mind that she usually does it all the time.

 

She could talk to him about all this, but she doesn’t want to. What she really wants is to let herself be happy too.

 

—

 

Two weeks later, Sam is standing at the foot of the Stargate, smiling in awe as General Hammond and Colonel O’Neill pin golden oak leaves to her shoulders. She salutes the General and turns to salute the Colonel, his face serious but his eyes smiling, and she can see that he’s proud of her, happy for her.

 

This thing they’re doing, this thing they don’t talk about, whatever it is, it’s working. She wouldn’t have made Major if it wasn’t working. They wouldn’t have beaten Apophis, they wouldn’t have taken out Hathor.

 

“Well done, Major,” he says, his brown eyes twinkling at her. He gives her a smile then, and licks his lips ever so slightly.

 

Sam feels a rush of heat through her body, but for once, she doesn’t cringe, doesn’t berate herself, doesn’t try to fight it. She just smiles openly back at him and holds his gaze with confidence. “Thank you, sir.”


	25. Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [NellieOleson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieOleson/pseuds/NellieOleson) was my beta for this, and thank god, because this chapter was a huge mess before she came along. You should go read all her stuff, if you haven't already. Her commentfic sets the bar, and her Magic Penis Saga is a blessing to the fandom. Thank you, NellieOleson!

As soon as September rolls into October, Amy starts talking about Halloween. She wants to be Belle, from Beauty and the Beast, which is completely unsurprising. But Carter is not on board, which is also unsurprising, given her own not-so-distant experience with the small-town-medieval-princess look. So Jack is trying to support them both by proposing other options that they might both find acceptable, perhaps even exciting.

 

“You could be a bunny,” Jack says at lunch one Saturday. Amy’s been sleeping with a stuffed bunny for as long as he’s known her. She totes it around between Carter’s house, Heather’s house, and his house. A bunny seems like a strong candidate.

 

Amy seems to consider this until Carter says, “Oh, that  _ is _ a good idea.” Then Amy frowns and shakes her head. Jack thinks it might be most helpful if Carter, whose opinion on the Belle costume was evident to everyone, didn’t chime in on his suggestions. He shoots her a look that he hopes communicates, in the most supportive way possible,  _ please shut up. _

 

“Or you could be a banana,” Jack says. It’s not a totally original costume idea, but it’s something that’s near to Amy’s heart.

 

Amy just shrugs. “I like bananas, but I don’t want to  _ be _ bananas,” she explains. She’s onto him. She’s cracked his strategy of listing things she likes, and she’s not buying it. It’s time for a new approach.

 

“You could be…” His eyes dart around the room, looking for inspiration, “a clock.”

 

Carter raises her eyebrows at him in question, but Amy perks up a bit. “With numbers on it!” she says. Ok, this is progress.

 

“Or you could be a chair,” he suggests.

 

Amy lips slide into an easy smirk, and her eyes twinkle. Jack recognizes that twinkle instantly as a sign that a Carter has just had a brilliant idea.

 

“I could be a chair, and you could be a table,” she says, looking very pleased with herself.

 

Jack chuckles. That is kind of cute. He throws her another soft ball, just to see if she’ll hit. “Or you could be a fork.”

 

“And you could be a spoon!” Carter is chuckling at this now too. She’s probably just relieved that the Halloween costume conversation is moving away from princesses.

 

“You could be a soccer ball,” he says.

 

“And you could be a soccer ball net!” Amy looks triumphant.

 

“You could be a blanket.”

 

“And you could be a couch fort!” Amy declares, and Jack and Carter both laugh. He was expecting something more along the lines of  _ pillow _ or  _ bed _ , but it is true that they usually drape a blanket over their couch cushion forts to serve as the roof.

 

“You could be a fish,” he says, and Amy grins again.

 

“And you could be my fishing pond.”

 

—

 

It happens at the diner, of course, the one with the really good pie. The one right by the base.

 

It’s Saturday afternoon. Sam and Jack and Amy had eaten lunch at Jack’s, and Amy wanted a banana for dessert, but Jack didn’t have any, much to Amy’s shock and extreme dismay. It had never occurred to her before that a household might be out of bananas. To make up for this lapse, Jack had proposed pie. So here they are, the three of them, sitting at a round booth with Amy in a booster seat between them. Of course they each got a different kind of pie, and of course they’re picking off each others’ plates, smiling and laughing as they do, because what’s better than three different kinds of pie, right in front of you? 

 

Amy is talking animatedly, and Sam and Jack both have their eyes on her because she’s being really cute. Something Amy says makes Jack think of an only slightly bawdy joke, which he mutters over Amy’s head to Sam. To his surprise, Sam knows the punchline, and Jack reaches past Amy and puts his hand on Sam’s arm as he bursts out laughing. The touch is momentary, but her eyes fall to that spot on her arm and linger there for a moment, happy. Amy bursts out laughing too, though she hasn’t heard the joke, and Jack leans down and kisses her on the cheek. Sam can’t help but close her eyes for just a second, momentarily overcome by the wave of emotion she feels at the sight of this man and her daughter eating pie. 

 

Then she opens her eyes and sees, of all people, Janet. Janet is standing at the bakery counter at the front of the diner, and she’s looking right at them. 

 

Sam’s face goes slack for a moment, and then she recovers, pasting a smile back on. She waves to her friend. Then she motions to Jack - the Colonel - and nods toward Janet.

 

Janet grabs a box off the counter that presumably holds a pie of her own and approaches their table. “Hey, you three,” she says.

 

“Janet!” says Amy. 

 

Sam’s smile is tight, but she’s doing her best to act natural. Next to her, the Colonel seems to be taking everything in stride.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Janet says, after greeting Amy.

 

“Yeah,” Sam says.

 

“I was out of bananas,” the Colonel offers, “and we needed something for dessert.”

 

Janet takes in the three plates with three pieces of pie in various states of dismemberment.

 

“I’m on my way home,” Janet says. “We finally cleared SG-7 from… you know.” She can’t say anything more, obviously. “Anyway, Cass had a big test this week, and I thought it would be nice for us to have a treat. And this place is so close to the base.” She looks meaningfully at Sam, and Sam ducks her head.

 

“What kind of pie?” The Colonel nods toward the box she’s holding.

 

“Dutch apple,” Janet replies. “Cassie’s favorite.”

 

“Smart girl,” he says approvingly.

 

“Jack likes every pie,” Amy adds.

 

“You have to admit, they’re pretty likable,” he says.

 

“Can you believe Jack is out of bananas?” Amy continues.

 

“I can’t!” Janet says to the young girl. “But at least you got pie out of the deal.”

 

“Yeah,” Amy says. “I did.” She looks pensive, like she’s just now realizing how such an unthinkable tragedy - Jack being out of bananas - could’ve turned out so nicely for her.

 

Janet smiles kindly at Amy, and then she looks up at Sam and the Colonel. “I’ll see you guys Monday,” she says.

 

Jack smiles and nods, and Amy shouts goodbye. “Say hi to Cassie for us,” Sam manages. It’s the first sentence she’s been able to string together since she first saw Janet, and saw Janet seeing them. She suspects she’ll be hearing from her friend before Monday.

 

Janet does not disappoint. It’s late in the morning on Sunday when Janet drops by with Cassie. Amy runs to hug them both and then drags Cassie off to see the project she made with Aunt Heather that’s now hanging on the fridge, and Janet turns to Sam.

 

“So,” she says, jumping right into it as they follow the girls more slowly to the back of the house. “You and the Colonel."

 

“It’s not what it looked like,” Sam says quickly.

 

“I’m sure it’s not,” Janet says. “But I can tell you exactly what it looked like.” When Sam simply looks down at her hands, Janet presses on. “Sam,” she says, “you looked like a family. You looked like a couple."

 

Sam closes her eyes, wincing at the memory of how their stolen, happy moment was so rudely interrupted by reality.

 

“You need to be more careful."

 

“There’s nothing going on,” Sam says forcefully.

 

“Are you sure?"

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

 

Janet reaches out to squeeze Sam’s hand. “Hey,” she says. “I’m your friend, Sam. I care about you. But we should talk about this. That diner is really close to the base. People from the SGC eat there all the time. This time, it was me, but it could’ve been anyone.”

 

Sam rubs a hand over her face. “Ok,” she says. “You’re right. I know how it looked.” She slumps down onto a stool at the kitchen counter as the girls, sitting on the floor behind her, dump out Amy’s bin of train tracks. Amy loves her trains so much that Sam recently bought her an expansion pack with a suspension bridge so she can build longer routes. “God, Janet, what am I going to do?”

 

“What do you want to do?” Janet asks, and Sam can’t answer. She’s only recently decided to stop beating herself up for wanting him the way she does, for needing him, for loving him. And look how well that’s going already.

 

“Sam,” Janet prods again. “You said it’s not what it looks like, and I believe you. But what is it? Can you explain that? Just to me?”

 

Sam sighs. Maybe it would help. Janet’s right, she’s got to be more careful, and there’s no better place to start than with a fully-developed understanding of the problem at hand.

 

“It started after my mom died, I think,” Sam says. “I mean, he and Amy hit it off, even before that. He’s so great with kids, you know?” Janet nods encouragingly, she’s got Cassie, she knows. “After my mom, he just… he was there for us. We started spending time together, once a week, then twice a week, and now…” She waves her hands in the air to vaguely encompass all the other things, the small ways they’ve insinuated themselves into each other’s lives—Amy’s clothes at his house, a car seat in the back of his truck, his favorite beer in her fridge. “When Amy’s driving me nuts, I talk to him, or when she does something funny, or sweet, I can tell him about it, and it makes me feel…”

 

“Good?” Janet suggests.

 

Sam nods. “Yeah. Really good.”

 

Janet squeezes Sam’s hand again. “You might have options, you know.”

 

“Options?” Sam frowns. Options for what?

 

“Yeah,” Janet says. “This is the US military. For every rule, there are at least a dozen exceptions.”

 

“Oh my god, Janet, no,” Sam says, standing up suddenly as she realizes what Janet means: options for her and Jack to be together, exceptions to the rule that says not to fall in love with your CO. “We can’t… I mean, I don’t know if he… god. Wow.” If he knows how she feels and doesn’t feel the same way back, she could lose her job  _ and _ his friendship. That’s a risk she’s not willing to take.

 

Sam is pacing now, and Janet stands up too, walks to the fridge and pours them each a glass of water. She sets one in front of Sam on the counter and motions for her to sit back down. “Sam,” she says gently. “I know what I saw at the diner yesterday, and it wasn’t a one-way thing. And honestly, it’s not the first time I’ve wondered. The way he looks at you…”

 

“We were just eating pie, Jan,” Sam says, her eyes downcast. 

 

Janet sighs and takes a sip of her water. “So,” she says, after a quiet moment, “what are you going to do?”

 

“You think I should stop,” Sam says, like it’s a foregone conclusion. Janet is a woman in the military, and she knows how it works. She knows how even a hint of impropriety can ruin everything, and not just for the woman in question, but for all the women, how their entire, collective reputation can be ruined by one malicious rumor.

 

But Janet is shaking her head. “That’s not what I said.” She looks pointedly at Sam. “This is your decision. Do  _ you _ think you should stop?”

 

Sam imagines, for a moment, what it would be like to have Colonel O’Neill be her commanding officer day in and day out, but to otherwise cut Jack out of her life. No Saturdays, no Wednesdays, no yard work, no errands. No sitting on the couch drinking a beer, no phone calls, no laughing about Amy, no talking about Charlie, no longer knowing she can lean on him if she needs back-up, or a shoulder, or a hand.

 

“I don’t think I can,” Sam says quietly. She couldn’t do that to herself, and she really couldn’t do it to Amy.

 

“Ok,” Janet nods. “But you also don’t want to… look into options.”

 

Sam shakes her head. No way. Even to ask around would be too incriminating, forget the part where she doesn’t actually know how he feels about her.

 

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be a problem,” Sam says tentatively, straightening up a little. At Janet’s questioning look, she shrugs. “Well, I know I need to be more careful. Maybe I just can.”

 

“Careful like sneaky?” Janet asks, and Sam winces. She doesn’t do sneaky. Even the thought of it makes her uncomfortable.

 

“No, not like sneaky, just like… mindful?” Sam tries. “I can be more aware of how others might perceive things, and I can make adjustments accordingly. And maybe we can dial it back a little.” She does have other friends, she reminds herself. Jack isn’t Amy’s only outlet for social engagement. Maybe they could go back to just Saturdays, maybe the next time Amy is funny or driving her crazy, she could call Heather, or Janet, or someone else. “Maybe it can just be… not a problem.”

 

Janet looks skeptical. “Do you think that will work?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sam admits. “But it’s something to try.”

 

“Ok,” Janet says with more confidence. “It doesn’t have to be a problem.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be a problem,” Sam repeats. It’s like a mantra. Maybe if she says it enough, she’ll believe it.

 

“Sam,” Janet says. “You know I support you, right? I mean it when I say this is your decision to make. There’s more to life than the Air Force, more than the Stargate, even. If you ever do decide you want something else, that’s ok.”

 

Sam is shocked to find herself blinking back tears. Apparently she’s got a lot of emotion caught up in all this. It certainly doesn’t help that this whole conversation feels like one she would’ve had with her mom. “It does help to talk about it,” she says quietly. 

 

“Hm,” Janet says, leaning back with a small smile on her face. “Is that a ‘thank you’?”

 

Sam chuckles. “It is.”

 

Janet reaches over to pull Sam into a tight hug. Then together, they turn their attention to the girls in the playroom. Cassie and Amy have used all the pieces, including the new suspension bridge, to build a long track, and Amy is currently breaking off small pieces of Play-Doh to load onto the train cars. The late morning sun is coming in through the window. It catches on Amy’s light, curly hair, and Sam thinks of Jack, of how he smiles at Amy, of how his voice sounds when he’s happy.

 

Doesn’t have to be a problem, she thinks to herself. I can do this. Doesn’t have to be a problem.

 

—

 

“I can be a foot, and you can be a shoe,” Amy says. This conversation has been ongoing ever since Amy latched onto the idea of a team Halloween costume.

 

“You could be a leaf, and I could be a tree,” Jack suggests. They’re out for an easy Saturday morning hike, the bright reds and golds of autumn painting a striking display against an otherwise drab October sky.

 

“Or a rake,” Amy says thoughtfully. “Or you could be a rake, and I could be a shovel, like my pink rake and shovel.”

 

“Would I have to be pink?” Jack says.

 

“Yes,” Amy confirms. Her tone allows no room for argument, so Jack simply shrugs. Carter is hanging back a little as they walk along, letting them talk.

 

“You could be a book,” Jack says.

 

“And you could be another book,” Amy says, “and we could read  _ both _ books!”

 

Jack grins. Amy’s always looking for a way to get more stories out of the deal.

 

“Amy,” Carter speaks up behind them. “You know Jack isn’t actually going trick-or-treating with us, right?”

 

Amy freezes, and Jack does too. Then she spins around to face her mother, a frown on her face. “He isn’t?”

 

“That’s something you and I do together, just the two of us,” Carter says. She’s smiling but Jack can tell she’s making an effort.

 

“But I want Jack,” Amy says, her small hands moving to her hips in fists.

 

“I know,” Carter says. She steps up next to them and reaches down to grab one of Amy’s fisted hands. “But Jack needs to be at his own house.” 

 

“That’s right,” he says. He couldn’t care less about handing out candy at his house, he’s more than capable of leaving a bowl out on the front step, but he knows better than to contradict his second in command right now, even if she won’t make eye contact with him. “Lots of trick-or-treaters.”

 

“But we need to be a costume together,” Amy insists, her lower lip sticking perilously out. This could get ugly fast.

 

Jack crouches down on his knee so he’s eye-level with her. “We can still have fun coming up with costume ideas,” he says. “I like playing that game with you.”

 

“I just want to be Belle,” she says, her pout now firmly in place.

 

“Ok,” Jack says, standing up again and grabbing her other hand. “You be Belle and I can be one of Belle’s books.” He peeks sideways at her as he begins walking down the trail again. Her foot crunches a particularly crispy leaf, and he can see a small smile playing on her face.

 

“And I can be Belle’s library, and you can be the library card!”

 

Back on track, Jack thinks to himself, for now, at least.

 

—

 

It’s not a problem. It’s not a problem. For a whole week-and-a-half, it’s not a problem. 

 

And then he kisses her. Not her, Major Samantha Carter of the US Air Force, but  _ her _ , Dr. Samantha Carter of the SGA. Technically, she kisses him. But he sure didn’t do anything to stop her.

 

Dr. Carter had arrived at the SGC two days earlier, and she had looked at the Colonel with affection so open and aching and raw that Sam could barely contain the desire to strangle her.

 

And now this kiss.

 

They break apart, exchange a few words Sam can’t hear and a look she doesn’t need words to interpret, and then he turns and steps toward the mirror and Sam hightails it. She’s not usually one to run and hide, but her self-preservation instinct is too strong to fight right now. 

 

She runs to the relative safety of her lab, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, breathing heavily. She wants to break something. She wants to cry. She wants to strangle  _ him _ now. But most of all, she wants to kiss him. 

 

She wanted that kiss to be hers.

 

—

 

Jack works hard not to think about kissing Sam Carter. It’s no small thing, because she’s beautiful, and brilliant, and confident, and capable. She’s friendly, and funny, and kind, and the way she talks about her science-y stuff is incredibly hot. So yeah, he works hard at that. Really hard.

 

But now here she is, standing before him in storage room D on level 25 of someone else’s SGA, and it’s not his Sam Carter, but she’s kissing him, and it’s getting harder by the millisecond not to think about it.

 

_ You don’t even see her that way, do you? _ the other Sam Carter had asked him, and it had felt a little bit like a slap in the face. He doesn’t see her that way because he  _ can’t  _ see her that way.

 

He’d asked the other Sam the obvious question,  _ how could you marry such a loser? _ And she’d laughed, which was the right thing to do, though he suspects she knew he wasn’t really joking. It’s not that Jack thinks of himself as a loser, per se, but next to Sam Carter, any Sam Carter, it’s not even a question. 

 

And now she’s kissing him. He knows it’s not his Carter, and he knows he’s not her Jack. He _knows_ that. But when her fingers play at the hair on the back of his head, for the briefest of moments, he sees how much he wants this. He starts to lose himself just a little bit, and it’s at that moment that she pulls back.

 

So much the better.

 

He blinks at her. She’s looking at him, all blue eyes and long eyelashes, and she says, “You’re really not him, are you.”

 

“No,” he says.

 

“I just wish…” she says.

 

“Yep,” he replies. 

 

What is it that he wishes?

 

—

 

He finds her in her lab, staring at her computer, her hands not moving on her keyboard. 

 

“Carter,” he says, and she startles.

 

“Sir.”

 

She stands, and he takes a few tentative steps towards her, aware that he might be on shaky ground, given that she just saw him kissing her double. “I just wanted to…” he shifts on his feet and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “How’s it going?”

 

“Sir?” she says, and Jack sighs. Apparently he needs to ask a better question to get her to say something other than his honorific.

 

“Are you doing ok?” he says. “I know this has been weird.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says. “I’m fine. Sir.”

 

“Carter,” he tries again, harder this time. “I don’t want things between us to be uncomfortable after what happened.” There, he said it.

 

She swallows, and he hopes this means he’ll get a real answer. “I don’t want that either,” she says.

 

“Ok.” It’s not much, but it’s something. He’s itching to prod more out of her, to try and gauge what’s going on in her head. He’s struck by the sudden realization that he wants to know how she feels about him. Does she work hard to not think about kissing him too? Does she feel about him the way the other Sam Carter felt about her Jack O’Neill? But that’s not exactly something he can just ask her, especially not now. “I know there’s been a lot of stuff lately...” He nearly rolls his eyes at his own ineloquence.

 

“Stuff?” 

 

“Well just,” he fumbles, “I mean, Amy stuff and… stuff.” He winces a little bit and gives her a hopefully-casual half-shrug, but he suspects he’s going to seriously regret introducing Amy into the conversation. It’s way too easy to talk about her instead of what they need to be talking about.

 

“Yeah, Amy,” she says. “She really loves spending time with you.” Her eyes dart over to the computer console she wasn’t working at, like she hopes it will beep or explode or otherwise put an end to this supremely awkward conversation.

 

“Me too,” he says quickly. “But I don’t want…” he stops again to collect himself. Can things be the way they were before? Is that what she wants? Is that what he wants? He sighs. He doesn’t even know how they could possibly talk about this. “Does this change things?”

 

Carter stares at him intensely for long enough that he starts to wonder if his question, vague as it was, has somehow offended her. “I don’t think Amy would want anything to change,” she says finally.

 

“Ok.” He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. He supposes it would depend on what she means by change. It’s yet another thing he can’t exactly ask. “I don’t want things to change either,” he says. “I like the way things are.”

 

“So do I,” she replies.

 

“Ok,” he says again. “So we’re ok?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good.” More than anything, he needs at least that, for them to be ok. 

 

He considers her for a moment longer and then decides this is probably the best they’re going to do. So he gives her a nod and his best approximation of a smile and walks out of her lab, trying to recapture that state of mind where he doesn’t think about kissing Sam Carter, where they’re teammates and they’re friends and there’s nothing more to it.

 

—

 

After he leaves, Sam counts evenly to thirty and then flops down in her chair, letting her head drop onto her desk. 

 

They talked. Sort of.

 

He said he liked the way things are. To be fair, she’d said the same, though she’d only halfway meant it. But it seemed clear enough that maintaining the status quo is his preferred course of action.

 

At least they haven’t lost ground. This could’ve ended so much worse, she reminds herself, sitting up straight again.

 

And if nothing else, Amy will be happy. This always was about Amy, wasn’t it?

 

—

 

“I could be a Christmas tree, and you could be a decoration,” Amy says.

 

“Or you could be a cookie,” Jack says.

 

“And you could be some milk,” Amy says, looking thoughtful. “With a straw.”

 

“Of course,” Jack says.

 

It’s Wednesday night, and they’re eating tacos. Carter had begged off on Saturday, which Jack had expected, but she seems more like her normal self tonight, which he decides is good.

 

“Or I could be peanut butter,” Amy says.

 

“And I could be jelly.”

 

Amy pauses. “But what about bread?”

 

“I could be bread,” Jack says gamely.

 

“Peanut butter needs jelly  _ and _ bread,” Amy insists. She furrows her little brows for a moment and then says, “Mama? You can be our bread, ok?”

 

Jack watches as Carter’s jaw drops ever so slightly, and then a smile spreads over her face. He hasn’t seen her smile like that since before this whole mirror thing happened. It’s a good look on her.

 

“Or!” Amy shouts, excited to embrace this new level she’s just uncovered in the team Halloween costumes game, “I can be a train, and you can be a train track,” she points at Carter, “and you,” she says with a smile for Jack, “can be a suspension bridge!”

 

Jack nods. This is a train idea he could really get behind.

 

Carter leans forward at the table and grins at Amy. “I could be a toothbrush.”

 

“And I could be toothpaste!” Amy squeals.

 

“And I could be teeth,” Jack says, and he can’t help but smile too. The game really is better this way.

 

—

 

Halloween comes and goes. Amy is a dinosaur, because Gus is a dinosaur, and in the end, that’s all that mattered.

 

Amy eats one piece of Halloween candy every night after dinner for almost a month, making a big show each night of dumping out her bucket, organizing the candy by type and making her selection. Then Thanksgiving rolls around, and there’s pie, there’s cake, there are cookies and muffins and dishes full of fancy chocolates. Amy and Sam eat leftover holiday desserts until the Wednesday night after Thanksgiving, when they’re all gone.

 

“Do we have any more pie?” Amy asks as she finishes the last of her green beans. The Colonel grabs her napkin and helps her wipe her hands and face clean.

 

“None at all,” Sam says. “We finally ate everything.”

 

“Everything?” Amy says dejectedly, and Sam shrugs. “Well, what’s for my treat tonight?”

 

Sam catches the Colonel’s eye and tries to will him not to look at the spot on top of the fridge where Amy’s bright orange bucket of Halloween candy sits, still half-full. “We’ve got bananas,” she says to Amy, “or apples. We could slice them up and put cinnamon on them, that might be good.”

 

Amy frowns as she considers this, and the Colonel clears his throat.

 

“Amy, your mom is holding out on you,” he says, and Sam blanches. He wouldn’t, would he?

 

“What?” Amy demands.

 

He tilts his head toward the fridge and grins. “I happen to know for a fact that there are purple grapes in that fridge right there.”

 

Sam blows out a breath and chuckles to herself as Amy, unsurprisingly, decides she wants grapes.

 

It’s not perfect, this thing they have, and it’s not everything she wants, but it’s still good. It’s still really, really good.

  
  



	26. The Devil You Know

When SG-1 gets back from hell—actual hell—Amy has a cold.

 

Sam would like nothing more than to hole up at home up with Amy for a few days, but SG-1 has their hands full of meetings and paperwork in the wake of their destruction of Netu, and Sam really needs to be on base if at all possible. Heather says the boys are symptomatic too, and assures Sam that they’ll spend all day lying low together, staying well-hydrated, watching TV, and taking extra long naps. Sam takes some small comfort in the fact that she’ll at least be on the same planet as her sick daughter, just in case.

 

After a couple days, Amy seems to be getting better, and then she seems worse again. Her cough and runny nose are clearing up, but she is so tired, and her low-grade fever won’t go away. The Colonel comes over for dinner on Wednesday, and Amy is friendly but quiet. She eats only half her dinner, makes no mention of dessert, and then goes to bed early and without protest.

 

On Thursday, Heather reports that Amy was listless, even as her cousins have started to recover from their own bouts with the cold. That evening, the Colonel comes over again and brings take-out from the Italian place Amy has always liked. Sam isn’t sure if he’s checking in on Amy or checking in on her as they all continue to process their ordeal on Sokar’s planet. Amy just pokes at her penne and meatballs and then starts to cry, and Sam puts her to bed.

 

Quietly closing the door to Amy’s room, Sam almost wants to cry herself. She’s tired and she’s worried. Amy has had colds before, like any child, but this is different. She feels a creeping sense of dread that this is turning into something beyond what she is equipped to handle on her own.

 

“I’m going to take her to the doctor tomorrow,” Sam says later when they’re sitting on the couch together. Amy’s pediatrician is one of many in a fairly large practice, and she can usually get a same-day appointment with one of the doctors there, if not the one she usually sees.

 

“Can I help?” the Colonel asks, and Sam really, really wants to say yes. She wants him to come to the appointment with them, hold Amy in his lap in those uncomfortable waiting room chairs, and tell her stories quietly while Sam fills out paperwork. She wants him to swing by the pharmacy to pick up whatever prescription the doctor might order, and maybe by the grocery store for some easy chicken noodle soup, while Sam snuggles with Amy on the couch, holding a cloth to her head to help her feel better. She wants to look to him and see him nod reassuringly when Amy finally goes to sleep, when she seems ok, like her fever might break and she might be able to rest now, and Sam might be able to rest too.

 

But instead she says, “We’ll be fine,” and he nods.

 

“Don’t worry about work,” he says. “I’ll talk to Hammond.”

 

“Thanks.” She wonders what, specifically, he’ll tell him. Will he say they were sitting on her couch after dinner, alone together, having a glass of wine and talking about her daughter? “I should probably get to bed too,” she adds, standing up and ending the conversation.

 

Ever since their sort-of talk after the quantum mirror incident, Sam has done her best to frame and interpret their outside-of-work interactions appropriately, though sometimes it’s easier said than done. Tonight, she is struggling. She’s in a mood tonight, the kind of mood where she wants things she knows she can’t have. The Colonel leaves and Sam sits back down on the couch alone, listening to the quiet sound of Amy’s breathing over the baby monitor.

 

Amy is awake on and off all night. Her fever responds to medicine, but the second it wears off, her temperature spikes back up into a range that has Sam on edge. Sam is up all night with her, worried that something will happen if she takes a break from her vigil. She calls the on-call doctor at 3:00 a.m.; he advises alternating Tylenol and Motrin and administering them on a more aggressive schedule than is recommended on their packaging. He also sets Amy up with an appointment at 10:00 in the morning with another doctor at the practice.

 

Sam feels every second of every hour that passes, and at some point, she realizes that it’s light out. She eats some cereal for breakfast and tries to get Amy to eat some too, but at the first bite, Amy throws up, so Sam gives Amy small sips of water instead and wishes she had asked the Colonel to run to the store for some Pedialyte or something.

 

They show up at 9:15 for Amy’s appointment. Amy crawls into Sam’s lap, and Sam tries to rock her gently in the uncomfortable chairs as they wait. Sam feels like an idiot now, because it’s obvious that Amy is very sick, and Sam thinks she should’ve known, should’ve done something more than wait around for this appointment. But the doctor they see is kind and thorough and listens to Sam’s detailed reports of what medicine Amy has been taking and how much she has or hasn’t slept and eaten. Then the doctor takes Amy’s vitals, checks Amy’s ears for an ear infection, checks her throat for a strep infection.

 

For the last few days, Sam has been asking Amy if anything hurts, and Amy has always said yes, but she’s declined to provide any further detail. So Sam has tried to make her questions more specific: Does your tummy hurt? _Yes_ . Do your ears hurt? _Yes_ . Does your elbow hurt? _Yes_ . Do your toenails hurt? _Yes_. None of these responses had been particularly informative for Sam, but it’s the doctor who finally asks the right question when she says, “Does it hurt when you pee?”

 

Amy nods studiously and tells the doctor that she tries not to have to go potty. Sam feels like a bad parent all over again, because shouldn’t she have thought of that? Shouldn’t she have noticed Amy’s reluctance? But she was too busy noticing the cold and the fever, the appetite and the fatigue, the explosion of the hell planet, the time spent being tortured by her own worst memories and fears.

 

“I’d like to check for a urinary tract infection,” the doctor tells Sam. She turns to Amy. “Have you ever tried to pee in a cup before?” Amy makes a face but Sam assures the doctor they’ll give it a try, and down the hall they go to the bathroom, armed with an eight-ounce, sterile specimen cup.

 

Amy has been struggling to eat or drink much of anything, so it takes a while for her to pee. “I’m so sorry, baby,” Sam whispers over and over, one arm supporting Amy as she sits on the toilet, the other holding the cup between her legs.

 

The test comes back positive; it’s a UTI. The doctor explains that this is common, especially for girls in diapers or pull-ups, for girls just learning to wipe themselves. The doctor tells Sam she sent a prescription for antibiotics to the pharmacy, but cautions that it can take up to 24 hours for the medicine to start to work, and in the meantime, she should continue with the Tylenol and Motrin. She describes some warning signs that might indicate Amy’s condition is worsening and suggests some methods for easing Amy’s pain in urinating.

 

Sam doesn’t understand why the hell they can’t just have a pharmacy at the doctor’s office, because it’s December now, and she’s not going to leave her sick child alone in a running car, but she also hates to drag her sick child out into the cold to stop at yet another place to fill this prescription.

 

But they make the stop, and when they get home, Sam wishes she would’ve thought to grab some food from the pharmacy while they were there, because they’re running dangerously low on groceries. She sighs and pops two pieces of bread into the toaster; Amy is supposed to take this medicine with food, and Sam is going to try get her to eat, however unlikely it seems.

 

Amy doesn’t eat, but she does take the medicine. Sam eats the two dry pieces of toast herself and then carries Amy upstairs to her own bedroom, where they both lay down in Sam’s large, king-sized bed. Amy’s eyes flutter closed as she slips into sleep, but Sam stays awake, listening to Amy’s breathing and holding a hand to her small forehead, trying to will the girl’s temperature back down into a safe range.

 

—

 

Jack has been thinking about Carter and Amy all day. He wanted to call, but he didn’t want to risk interrupting anything. Amy seemed to be sleeping a lot, though to hear Carter tell it, her sleep was fitful. It didn’t seem like Carter had been getting much sleep either.

 

His long day of meetings wraps up around 6:00 and he and the guys catch dinner in the commissary. He calls around 7:30, his curiosity and concern for them getting the better of him, but Carter doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t leave a message.

 

When she does finally call him back, it’s close to midnight, and he’s been in bed sleeping for an hour and a half.

 

He sees her name and he sees the time on the screen of his phone, and he knows something must be wrong. “Carter,” he says rolling out of bed and flipping on a light.

 

“Sir,” she says. “I’m sorry to bother you so late.” Her voice is stiff and formal, and she sounds like she’s about to crack.

 

“Where are you?” he asks. It’s clear from the noises in the background that she’s not at home.

 

“We’re at the hospital,” she says.

 

“The hospital?” he feels something akin to panic building inside him. “Amy? What happened?” He’s already pulling his clothes on, fumbling for his car keys.

 

“She threw up in the car on the drive over,” Carter says, ignoring his question, like she’s rationing her words. “Her pajamas are a mess and I was wondering if you could bring some of the clothes she has at your house? They put her in a hospital gown but it’s not very warm...” Her voice cracks a little bit and Jack can just imagine it; the sight of Amy shivering in a hospital bed would probably make his voice crack too. “I’m so sorry to bother you, sir,” she’s saying again, “but Mark is out of town for work so I didn’t want to call Heather, and Janet is still tied up with SG-15 and you already have some of Amy’s things, so I thought -“

 

“Carter,” he cuts in. “I’m on my way. What hospital?”

 

“Good Shepherd Memorial,” she says, “we’re in the ER, room 6.”

 

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

 

“Ok.” Her voice sounds shaky. “See you soon, sir.”

 

“Carter,” he says emphatically. “It’s going to be ok. I’ll be right there.”

 

He hangs up and runs through the house, finding the items he needs as quickly as possible. He grabs two pairs of pajamas for Amy—her purple sheep pajamas, a practical two-piece set, and her blue hot air balloon sleeper, which is warmer and fuzzier but harder to get in and out of—along with a couple pull-ups. He takes the throw blanket off the back of the couch, the one she likes to wrap herself in when they read books, and, at the last second, he pulls a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and grabs a handful of granola bars and some bananas from the pantry. He puts everything in a paper grocery bag and throws it in the passenger seat of his truck.

 

Jack is usually a reasonable driver, but he races to the hospital at a decidedly unreasonable speed. As he parks his truck in the lot adjacent to the Emergency Room, he looks at the clock on the dash. It’s been 13 minutes.

 

He bursts through the hospital doors like he’s emerging from a wormhole into hostile territory, his eyes scanning the room to identify targets and possible threats. He does his best not to actually run to the reception desk, where a tired-looking receptionist raises an eyebrow at him, apparently unimpressed with his sense of urgency.

 

“Carter.” He says, clutching his paper grocery bag of goods. “Amy Carter. She’s in room 6.”

 

The receptionist consults a computer screen in front of her. “Amy Carter,” she murmurs to herself, and then, apparently finding the information she needs, she looks back at Jack. “Are you the father?” she asks.

 

Jack’s heart drops into his gut. He opens his mouth to speak, to say anything, to flat-out lie to this woman if that’s what it takes to get him to Amy. The receptionist raises both eyebrows then, because he’s hesitated too long, clearly he’s not the father, and it’s too late to even lie about it.

 

“Immediate family only, sir,” she says, and she turns back to her computer. Behind her, the door that leads to the patient rooms remains firmly shut.

 

“But I’m…” Jack says. “She’s my… I’m her…” Jack falters as he realizes there are no conventional titles for what he is to Amy, what she is to him. He’s her mom’s friend, her mom’s boss? Is that really all he can say?

 

Jack takes a breath and wills himself to focus, or he won’t do either Carter any good, no matter what he is to them. He clenches his jaw and squares his shoulders. He could easily charge this reception desk and take down that door, if he needs to. But just then, the door swings open, and as nurse walks through to call a patient back, Jack sees her, and she sees him. She stands from her chair abruptly and calls out, “Sir!”

 

The receptionist turns and looks at Carter and then back at Jack. “Please,” he says fervently.

 

“Oh, go on,” she relents.

 

And then he’s there, outside room 6, holding Carter in his arms as she cries. He strokes her hair, rocks her back and forth, whispers reassuringly that everything is going to be ok, though he still doesn’t know at all what’s going on.

 

Eventually, she calms down, pulls back, and presses her hands to her face. Jack has to check the urge to wipe her tears. “I’m just so happy to see you,” she says in a shaky voice.

 

Jack does his best to smile. “You could’ve fooled me,” he teases gently, but he gets it. He feels a flood of relief himself, just being here with her—with them—and he’s only been panicking for about 13 minutes, give or take.

 

“I think I’m just really tired,” she says through her tears.

 

Jack takes her by the arm and leads her into the room where Amy lies sleeping. He notes with some relief that she isn’t hooked up to anything worse than an oxygen monitor on her toe, but there are no IVs, no oxygen tubes, nothing like that. He retrieves the blanket he brought and lays it over her; there’s no sense in waking her to put pajamas on if she’s sleeping, and the blanket will help keep her warm.

 

“It’s a urinary tract infection,” Carter says as they sit down in two plastic chairs next to Amy’s bed. She explains that Amy was diagnosed this morning, but the medicine takes a while to kick in. “The doctor at the office said that if Amy’s fever gets over 105, or if she starts turning blue or acting confused, I should take her to the ER. And when she said that, I just thought, oh god, if she starts turning blue, I’m going to call an ambulance, because what does it take for someone to turn blue?”

 

Jack can see the horror in her eyes as she recounts the story. “But she started turning blue,” she says in almost a whisper. “And she was shaking.” She closes her eyes and rubs both hands over her face, Jack squeezes her knee reassuringly. “It was her lips,” Carter touches one hand to her own lips, “and her fingernail beds.” She looks down at her own fingers, like they might somehow reflect the trauma of a few hours ago, though they look healthy and fine. “I could see blue on the edges.” Jack imagines Amy’s small hands, her perfect little hands, with fingernail beds turning blue. “It was because of the fever. She wasn’t getting enough oxygen. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

 

Jack doesn’t doubt it, and that’s really saying something, considering she fights alien gods on other planets for a living.

 

“I put her in the car and I grabbed my purse, I didn’t pack anything, I didn’t call anyone, I just drove as fast as I could, and when we were a couple minutes away, she started throwing up, and I just…” Carter breaks off for a minute and squeezes her eyes shut. “I just wanted to stop the car and crawl back there and hold her in my arms and take it all away. But I had to keep driving. And she had to sit there in that mess, crying for the rest of the drive…”

 

“Hey,” Jack says, when it’s clear she can’t continue. “Hey, you did the right thing. You got her here. They’re taking care of her. She’s going to be ok.” He puts his arm around her, and she leans into him; he can feel her exhaustion, not just from the lack of sleep, but from the worry, the stress, the feeling of your child’s life in your hands. He knows that feeling.

 

“You could’ve called me,” he whispers into her hair. “Right away. Before you drove to the hospital. You can call me.” He’s not trying to make her feel bad, he just wants her to know. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, but she turns her head into his chest and he rests his cheek on the top of her hair and they stay like that for a long time, until her breathing evens out again.

 

“Hey,” he says eventually, and she pulls away, the spot she just vacated on his chest feeling cold and empty all of a sudden. “When did you last sleep?”

 

“Mmm,” she says, making a face. “I really have no idea.”

 

“How about eating?”

 

She scrunches up her face some more, as if it’s a struggle to remember. “I think I had some toast for lunch.”

 

“Ok, Carter,” he says, reaching into his bag. “You need sleep, and you need food. One of those things we can take care of right now.” He produces the water bottles, granola bars and bananas, and she looks like she’s going to cry all over again.

 

Carter perks up considerably once she’s got some calories in her, and it’s not long after that that the doctor checks in. By now, it’s getting close to 2:00 a.m.

 

“Mrs. Carter,” he says to Carter, and she doesn’t correct him, she just rises to her feet and stands at attention, eager for news on how Amy is doing. Jack stands too.

 

“I’m Dr. Richardson,” he says to Jack, extending a hand.

 

“Jack O’Neill,” he replies automatically, shaking the doctor’s hand.

 

The doctor looks between them for a moment and then turns to Amy, who, mercifully, is still asleep. He consults a chart and checks Amy’s monitors. “It looks like she’s stabilized,” he says. “If the monitor had indicated a continued lack of oxygen, we would’ve put her on a respirator, but as it is, her fever is holding steady at around 103, which is high but not dangerous. And I see here her oxygen levels are within an acceptable range.”

 

“That’s good,” Jack says. “Right? That’s good?”

 

“It’s promising,” the doctor says. “Right now, we’re waiting for the antibiotics to start working. There’s a small but real chance her infection won’t respond to it, but given that she hasn’t gotten any worse in the last four hours, and that she’s had no further episodes of vomiting, I’m hopeful that this won’t be the case. At any rate, I’d like to keep her here for observation for a few more hours.”

 

Carter just stares at the doctor, so Jack nods. Already, he can see the burst of energy she got from the food starting to fade.

 

“She’s due for more Tylenol soon,” the doctor continues, “so the nurse will be in shortly to administer that. We want to continue to be aggressive about managing this fever and keeping her temperature in a safe range.”

 

Carter nods blankly.

 

“Hey Doc,” Jack says, “any chance there’s a cot or something she could use?” He gestures towards Carter, who, as a testimony to just how tired she is, doesn’t even protest.

 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “We don’t have any of those in the ER. But I could ask the nurse to bring an extra blanket and pillow if you want to try make yourself comfortable in a chair,” he offers.

 

Carter starts to shake her head but Jack says, “Thanks,” and turns back to her with a shrug as the doctor leaves. “Won’t hurt,” he says.

 

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, after the nurse has come and gone, Jack has a cup of bad vending machine coffee, and Carter is sleeping on his shoulder, a pillow tucked under her head and a thin white hospital blanket draped over her. Jack keeps his arm tightly around her. It’s not much of a rest, but it’s something, and it’s all he can give her right now.

 

As Carter dozes, Jack feels himself settling down too, the frenzy and panic and adrenaline of his arrival at the hospital fading into the background as the beeps and hums of the hospital take over. He realizes that there was a time—a time not so long ago—when seeing a child he loves in a hospital emergency room would’ve brought him to his knees. But he talks about Charlie now when he needs to, and he knows this isn’t about Charlie. It isn’t even about him. It’s just about Amy, about Amy and her mom. He’ll do whatever he can to see them through this.

 

Two hours and several oxygen monitor and temperature checks later, Dr. Richardson is back. He’s satisfied that it’s safe to send Amy home, and hopeful that they’ll start seeing a marked improvement in her condition soon. “Keep a close eye on her temperature,” he says. “Until her fever breaks, it would be good for one of you to be with her at all times, just in case.” He looks between the two of them, and Jack nods.

 

Carter signs the discharge papers, which somehow takes another half hour. They get Amy dressed in a clean pull-up and the warm blue sleeper, and Jack lifts her into his arms. He wishes there was a way for him to carry Carter right now too; she looks like she could use it. Without discussion, he walks them to his truck, and Carter crawls into the back, holding Amy in her lap like a little baby.

 

It’s close to 5:00 a.m. by the time Jack pulls into Carter’s driveway. He carries Amy inside and straight up to Carter’s bedroom, laying her out in the middle of the bed. Carter takes Amy’s temperature one more time and seems satisfied that it hasn’t spiked again. Her eyes dart around the room, no doubt she’s enumerating the tasks she needs to accomplish, trying to determine her best plan of attack for getting through the next few hours.

 

“Hey,” Jack says, “how about you put on some sweats or something, and I’ll be right back?” She nods and looks down at her clothes, and Jack leaves the bedroom and heads downstairs to pour two glasses of water, one for each of them.

 

Carter is wearing sweatpants now, but still standing next to the bed, looking kind of lost. He hands her the glass of water. “Drink,” he says.

 

“Oh,” she says. After a moment, she drinks, and then sets the glass down on the nightstand.

 

“Ok, Major,” he says. “Bedtime.”

 

Her brow furrows. “But I can’t…” she motions to Amy, asleep in the middle of the bed. “She needs… I have to -“

 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take first watch.” She nods and bites back tears as he steers her toward the bed, and when she finally lies down, facing Amy, he pulls the blankets up over her. Then he goes around the bed and takes his position on Amy’s other side, sitting up with his back against the headboard. He lays a hand on Amy’s forehead, and then shifts his eyes over to Carter, who seems to still be in panic mode. He wonders how much time she’s spent in the last day exactly like this, lying next to Amy, not sleeping, not moving, hardly breathing, just watching, waiting, hoping, praying.

 

On instinct, he moves his hand from Amy over to Carter, and takes her hand in his. She keeps her eyes glued to her daughter, but blinks slowly. “It’s ok,” Jack says. “Sleep.” He say it like it’s an order, but he gives her hand a squeeze and she squeezes back, finally closing her eyes. After a few minutes, he sees her breathing deepen and even out, and he lets go of her hand to reach over and switch off the lights, even as outside, dawn begins to break. Then he returns his hand to hers and settles in against the headboard, keeping watch.

 

It’s been six weeks since the incident with the mirror, six weeks since a different Carter kissed him and he and this Carter talked about it, six weeks since they decided to keep things between them the way they are, whatever that means. Jack has been trying to follow her lead, trying to discern what she wants from him, trying to measure what he wants from her accordingly. He hopes to god he’s being what she needs right now.

 

—

 

When Sam wakes up, she is immediately aware of two things: first, that it’s much lighter in the room than she thought it should be, and second, that Amy is soaking wet. A quick glance at the clock on her nightstand confirms that it’s almost 10:00 in the morning, and a glance back at Amy confirms that she’s sweating profusely. And then she notices that sitting on her bed with herself and her daughter is her commanding officer, holding a cool washcloth to Amy’s forehead and speaking to her softly as Amy moans in discomfort.

 

“Sir,” she says, sitting up. She barely remembers changing into the sweats she’s wearing, barely remembers going to sleep at all. She’s got a vague memory, though, of holding his hand. It felt like an anchor.

 

“Hey,” he says with a smile that disarms her completely. He looks sleepy and gentle, and he’s sitting in her bed, caring for her daughter, smiling at her within seconds of her waking up. Sam closes her eyes and swallows hard.

 

“You should’ve woken me.”

 

“Nah,” he says. He glances at Amy as he flips the cloth on her forehead and then looks back at Sam. “Letting you sleep was kind of the whole point.”

 

Amy rolls over now and tucks herself into Sam. Her pajamas are wet, her hair is wet, and Sam wants to cry with relief. “Hey, baby,” she murmurs.

 

“Mama,” Amy says sleepily. “I broke my fever.”

 

Sam huffs a laugh that’s half a sob and looks up at the Colonel as she cradles Amy’s head in her arms.

 

—

 

Amy sits up and drinks some water and eats a whole piece of toast before going back to sleep. Her fever remains in a non-scary range, and Sam is starting to feel the panic of the night before—of the last couple days, really—start to recede.

 

She takes a shower, puts on clean clothes and feels like a whole new person. When she comes downstairs, she doesn’t see the Colonel anywhere, but she hears noises in the garage and figures he must be out there. She’s thinking about making herself a peanut butter sandwich when he comes in through the side door.

 

“Hey,” he says. “I got take out from the diner.” He motions to the counter where Sam just now notices a paper bag and yep, a whole pie. “I thought pie would help. I’ll hit up the grocery store later, but I figured you’d be hungry now.”

 

Sam blinks back at him, disbelieving, because this is exactly what she wanted, exactly what she hadn’t even dared hope for. He gives her a funny look, and at that moment, her stomach growls.

 

“What’d you get me?” she says.

 

“Turkey avocado BLT, what else?” he says. “Side of fries, because you need the calories, and because I know you love fries, even though you don’t usually order them.”

 

She just continues staring at him, and he’s starting to look hesitant now.

 

“I hope that’s ok?” he says.

 

“Yeah, it’s great,” she says, rubbing her hand over her face. “It’s perfect. I think I’m just still tired.”

 

“I’m sure you are,” he says. He walks past her and puts his hand on her shoulder for a moment, and then reaches into the fridge to get himself some water.

 

“You must be tired too,” she says. He was up all night. She at least she got that massive nap this morning.

 

“I’m doing alright,” he says. “I took the liner off the car seat. The little tag thing on it said was ok to go in the washing machine, so I rinsed off all the chunks and it’s in the washer now.”

 

“The car’s here?” Sam says. Last she remembers, the car was still in the ER parking lot at the hospital. He must’ve taken a cab back there at some point to retrieve it.

 

“It’s all cleaned out,” he says, and she blanches. Did he really clean the puke out of her car? “I’ll head over to the grocery store after I throw the car seat cover in the dryer. You got any special requests, or just the usual stuff?”

 

Sam really can’t help her staring. Maybe this is a dream, or a mirage. Maybe she’s hallucinating. Maybe she’s the one with a fever now, and it’s so bad she can’t tell what’s real. “Usual stuff,” she finally manages to say.

 

“Ok.” By now, he looks almost amused at the difficulty she’s having. He puts her food on a plate and sets it in front of her at the counter. “I’m going to go check on Amy real quick,” he says. “Maybe when you’re done eating, you should try sleep a little more too?”

 

Sam nods to herself and turns to her food as he walks away.

 

—

 

She does nap some more, and she wakes up when Amy does, early in the evening. Amy is steadily improving, her strength and stamina returning as her fever abates and the antibiotics do their thing on the urinary tract infection. She stays awake for three full hours this time, eats toast and yogurt and half a banana, and even takes a bath before falling back to sleep. The Colonel did indeed go grocery shopping earlier, thankfully, or Sam wouldn’t have had yogurt and bananas to feed her, not to mention milk, orange juice, a couple days worth of vegetables and meat, and did he restock the toilet paper too?

 

She’s taking inventory of her recent acquisitions when she hears him come into the kitchen.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly.

 

She turns to face him. “Hey.” He really does look tired now, and he should be. He’s been awake for a day and a half, and working, too. Her heart clenches at the sight of him, worn out from long hours of caring for her child, doing her chores, running her errands, caring for her. She wants so, so badly to take him in her arms, hold him to her, run her hands over his tired body until he falls asleep. Or something.

 

“So -“ he says.

 

“Do you have to go?” She tries to sound casual, but instead it comes out kind of panicky, to her immense embarrassment. She feels like she’s got her heart on her sleeve now, like for all the small moments they’ve shared in the last year, now is when she is the most transparent. She needs him—not the Colonel, not her commanding officer—but Jack, this man who’s so much a part of her life, Jack, whom she can’t be without, Jack, whom she loves.

 

But he simply shrugs. Maybe she’s not so transparent, or maybe she is and he’s just not interested in the same thing. Or maybe it’s actually illegal for them to be together, and he’s somehow not forgotten that. “I don’t _have_ to go. I can go if you want me to. Or I could stay tonight, in case Amy needs me.”

 

Amy. Right. “I was just thinking…” she says hesitantly, her eyes darting around the kitchen, “about… pie.”

 

Jack smiles. “I’m almost always thinking about pie. Or cake. Cookies, maybe. A nice biscotti.” Sam laughs quietly, and Jack looks pleased. “Pie is good.”

 

Sam moves to the coffee maker and hesitates. “Pie and coffee, or pie and beer?” she asks him.

 

He lets out a breath as he considers this. “I think beer,” he says. Sam agrees. She pulls two beers out of the fridge, cuts two slices of pie, and they settle on the couch in the living room in front of the TV. Jack turns it on, flipping through the channels until he finds a ball game. It’s on mute, and he leaves it that way. Then he takes a long drink of his beer and slouches back into the couch.

 

Sam is sitting on the edge of the couch, hands folded, elbows on her knees. She’s somewhat embarrassed to notice that she’s staring at him. Jack seems to notice at the same time. “What?” he says warily.

 

“Was it Charlie?” she says. “Back on Netu? The Blood of Sokar?”

 

Jack leans forward and sets his beer down on the coffee table. He puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands, a mirror of her posture. He nods slowly.

 

“Was it your mom?” he says after a while.

 

“It was Jonas,” Sam says. It was Jonas, everything he was, and everything he might have been, the good and the bad and the absolutely terrifying. The good things she would never have because he was dead - a father for Amy, a partner for herself, a lover - these things had torn at her heart. But the bad things - the things he might have done to her or her daughter, which she saw in vivid technicolor thanks to the Blood of Sokar - these things made her blood run cold.

 

Jack looks down at his hands and nods quietly. She thinks of the last few days, of her terror at Amy’s illness, of the powerlessness she felt, of the guilt. She feels such a wave of admiration for Jack for surviving what she can hardly fathom, and a wave of affection for overcoming it to such an extent that he can sit here with her now.

 

“I just wanted to say,” Sam swallows and, in a burst of bravery, reaches over and places her hand on top of his. “I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you. I don’t know what _I_ would’ve done.”

 

“Hey,” he says, looking at her with eyes full of sincerity. He gives her hand a quick squeeze before letting it go. “Anytime.”

 

He falls asleep on the couch a half-hour later, his beer bottle and his pie plate both empty on the coffee table. She wonders what he would do if she woke him gently, took him by the hand and led him upstairs to her bed, or if she simply turned out the light and laid down next to him on the couch. But instead, she covers him with a quilt her mom made, checks on Amy, and goes to bed alone.

 

As she closes her eyes, she wonders how much longer she can go on like this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with ongoing thanks to [NellieOleson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieOleson/pseuds/NellieOleson) for kicking this into shape


	27. Urgo

Christmas is a flurry of frosting and wrapping paper, of jingle bells and ornaments and reindeer pajamas. Sam smiles to herself as she watches the kids open their gifts from Grandpa on Christmas morning, imagining Jack out on Mark’s back deck in the middle of the night, situating the big box of presents just so. The day after Christmas, they decorate cookies at Jack’s with Janet and Cassie and the rest of SG-1, just like they did last year. It feels like a tradition now, right down to the part where Amy falls asleep in Jack’s guest room and Sam and Jack hang out together the rest of the day after everyone else leaves.

 

But as January settles in, dark and cold, Sam feels increasingly unsettled. Things with Jack are definitely the way they were before, but she never did figure out what, exactly, that means. She wishes they could talk again, talk more this time. She wishes he would bring it up so she wouldn’t have to, and she hates feeling like a coward every time she chooses instead to just enjoy the meal, the day, the evening with him.

 

Sam walks into Mark and Heather’s house one Friday evening and Amy runs to greet her, like she always does. Tonight, her hands are covered in paint, and when she gives Sam a tight hug, she leaves smears of blue and green and white all over Sam’s pants.

 

“Amy!” Heather calls, trailing behind her. “What did I tell you about your hands?” Amy grins a cheeky grin, and Heather rolls her eyes and laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s definitely washable,” she says to Sam. “Field-tested. I swear.” She hands Sam the dish towel she’s carrying, and Sam wipes off as much of the paint as she can before handing the towel back to Heather.

 

“Hi, Heather,” Sam says.

 

“Hey.” Heather looks exhausted but happy, like she usually does, especially on a Friday. “Amy, go wash your hands please. Gus and Kyle, you too,” she says loudly in the direction of the kitchen. A clamor of chairs and feet and giggles erupts, and Heather and Sam share a smile.

 

“Good day today?” Sam asks. It’s mostly a rhetorical question—it seems obvious enough that everyone is in a good mood—but Sam loves to hear whatever she can about Amy’s day, she craves these second-hand accounts of Amy’s life without her, above the mountain, on Planet Earth.

 

“Yeah,” Heather says. “Amy made you a painting, as you may have guessed.” Sam grins, but then notices Heather shift from one foot to another, her smile dropping as her face takes on a more concerned look. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, if you’ve got a sec.”

 

Sam’s body goes still but her mind starts racing, because that sounds ominous. Amy had seemed healthy and happy in the ten seconds Sam saw her just now. What could have happened? Was she fighting with her cousins, or, oh god, was she swearing? Sam cringes and reminds herself that, among all the other things, she really needs to find a way ask Jack to stop saying “damn” when Amy is within earshot.

 

“Gus was talking to Amy this morning while I was getting lunch ready, and I heard him ask her why she doesn’t have a dad.”

 

Oh. That. Sam sighs and allows herself a brief moment to close her eyes. She’s been waiting for Amy to start wondering about this for a while now. In hindsight, it makes a lot of sense that it would come from one of her cousins. Gus is almost four, so he’s at the perfect age for knowing what words mean without knowing what they _mean_.

 

Sam can’t imagine how Amy might have reacted. She’s mentally bracing herself as Heather continues, “Amy told him she doesn’t need a dad because she has Jack.”

 

Sam feels her heart drop into her stomach. Whatever she’d expected Heather to say, this was not it.

 

“Then they both started talking about something else,” Heather says, “and I didn’t want to jump in after the fact and make it a bigger deal than it needed to be. Plus, I didn’t know how you’d want me to handle it. I mean, you and Jack… um… are you guys, like —”

 

“No,” Sam says, finally finding her voice. “No, we’re not.”

 

“Ok,” Heather says, looking down, and then she turns her gaze back to Sam. “Really?”

 

“No,” she says again. “We can’t. No.”

 

“Right, right, the Air Force. I know,” Heather concedes. “I just thought maybe, because your work is so...” she spins her hand in the air, as if trying to come up with the right description, “weird and secretive and stuff, maybe they’d made an exception for you.”

 

“Heather,” Sam says slowly, “are you saying _you_ think Jack and I are in a relationship?”

 

Heather looks surprised, almost amused. “Are you saying you _don't_?”

 

“I told you,” Sam says, doing her best to keep her voice down so as not to attract the attention of anyone else in the house. “We can’t.”

 

“I know you _can't_ ,” she says, making quotation marks with her fingers around the last word. “But aren’t you? It’s obvious enough. To me, at least. And to Amy, apparently.”

 

Sam stares wide-eyed at Heather. A wave of embarrassment spreads over her, followed by a wave of shame. She had thought she could find a way for this not to be a problem—this, her feelings for Jack, her totally inappropriate attachment to her commanding officer. She had thought it would be good for Amy to have Jack in her life. She hadn’t foreseen, hadn’t even considered this possible outcome. She feels like such a fool.

 

“Hey,” Heather says, gently now, reaching out to touch Sam’s arm. “Don’t tell me this is news.”

 

Sam closes her eyes and shakes her head. “No,” she says. “Sort of. Not really.” Heather’s not the first to mention something to Sam about her relationship with Jack, but somehow, in all of this, she’d failed to consider her daughter. “I didn’t think about Amy, about what she would assume...”

 

Heather rubs Sam’s arm a little and gives it a squeeze. “It’s going to be ok. Look, talk to Jack, and you guys can talk to Amy, and it’ll be fine.”

 

Sam shakes her head again. “I can’t just talk to him about this.”

 

Heather frowns. “Have you ever talked to him? About any of this?”

 

“Yes,” Sam says. “Sort of.” She sighs. “I’m not sure.”

 

“Wow,” Heather says, looking genuinely surprised. “Ok, excuse my language, but that’s kind of fucked up.” Heather almost never swears, she must really mean business now. “If you’re not even sure you talked about it, then you didn’t talk about it, you know?”

 

“I’m trying to not let it be a problem,” Sam says quietly. It’s clear she’s failing. She’s going to have to try differently now. Try harder.

 

Heather scoffs. “And what’s he doing?” Sam gives her a confused look, and Heather starts gesturing with both hands now. “Oh come on,” she says. “I like Jack, you know I like Jack. And it’s obvious how he feels about you.”

 

“Whoa, Heather, wait —“ Sam starts, but Heather holds up a hand and interrupts her.

 

“Sam, you’re not an idiot. Don’t be an idiot about this.”

 

Sam flinches. She’s really not trying to be an idiot. “It’s not me,” she says, wanting to explain herself. “It’s just Amy. They’re crazy about each other. I thought it was good for her, but I didn’t think…”

 

Heather is shaking her head. “That’s bullshit. I’m sorry, but it is. And I really, really can’t believe he’s doing this to you.”

 

“Doing what to me?” Sam is struggling a bit to keep up with Heather’s growing indignation.

 

“This!” Heather says, exasperated. “You’re trying to hold everything together, and he just swings in and plays house with you, plays dad with Amy. It’s like he doesn’t even care about how this is making you feel!”

 

“Heather, I’m sure he’s not trying to —“

 

“Oh, trust me,” Heather cuts in. “Sometimes, men can be real assholes without even trying. Excuse my language, but they can. And I’m not saying Jack’s an asshole, but I don’t know. Actually maybe I am.”

 

Sam frowns. She likes Heather and she trusts her, obviously, or she wouldn’t leave her daughter in her care. But Sam has worked hard to construct a narrative where this whole thing with Jack is acceptable, permissible, and Heather’s easy assumptions have undermined it completely. No, actually, Amy’s easy assumptions have undermined it completely.

 

What if Heather’s right about what’s going on between her and Jack? What if Amy’s right?  And what if Sam’s been wrong this whole time?

 

“Shit,” Sam mutters, with no apology whatsoever for her language, because this really _is_ fucked up. She feels herself starting to get agitated too, maybe even mad, because Heather’s right. While she’s been driving herself crazy trying to make this _not a problem_ , what has Jack been doing? Shouldn’t he be taking at least some responsibility for his part in all this?

 

Amy and Gus, of course, choose this moment to come crashing back into the room. “What’s ‘shit’ mean?” Gus says.

 

“She didn’t say ‘shit,’” Heather says hurriedly, as Sam hides her face in her hands.

 

“Mama, I made you this!” Amy says, proudly holding out a piece of paper that’s still heavy with wet paint. “It’s a snowman!”

 

“I made you this too!” Gus says, thrusting another sheet of paint-laden construction paper at Sam. “I really think you said ‘shit.’”

 

Sam takes the papers, and Amy nods at her cousin in agreement. Sam presses her fingers to the spot on her forehead where a serious headache has officially sprouted. “I’m sorry, Heather,” she says.

 

“See?” Gus says, vindicated. “Shit. I heard you. Shit. What’s ‘shit’ mean?”

 

“You want to stay for dinner?” Heather says, despite the fact that Sam just taught her youngest child how to swear. But right now, all Sam wants to do is go home and hide in her bed, or, more likely, make dinner and entertain a happy kid for a few hours, and then hide in her bed.

 

“Thanks,” she says with a weak smile, “but we’ve got to go.”

 

Amy’s face lights up. “We do? Why? Is Jack coming over?”

 

Sam’s headache spreads to her temples and increases in intensity by at least 50 percent. “No, sweetie. Not tonight.”

 

“Because it’s Friday?” Amy says.

 

“Right.”

 

“He’s actually coming tomorrow.”

 

Sam sighs. “Yep. Tomorrow.” Amy jumps around excitedly, and Heather shoots Sam a sympathetic look. She wills herself to pull it together, just long enough to get to the part of the evening where she can go into hiding. “Can you go get your coat please?”

 

Amy and Gus run off to the back door, presumably to get Amy’s coat, and this time, Sam waits until the kids are out of earshot before she speaks. “Heather, I’m so sorry about the…” Sam waves one hand in the air, the other rubs her forehead.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Heather says, though Sam can tell she’s not pleased.

 

“And thank you,” Sam says, “for the…” She grimaces. For the talk? For the reality check? For calling out all her questionable assumptions and making her face the harsh truth of this mess she’s made?

 

“Hey, anytime. Really.” Heather gets that concerned look on her face again as the kids come barreling back into the room. “Let me know if you ever want to talk, ok? We can talk.”

 

Sam nods, though she really doesn’t want to talk, ever again, to anyone. This has been mortifying enough on so many levels. But if one thing is clear now, it’s that she can’t keep putting this off.

 

—

 

On Saturday, Jack takes Amy sledding at the park while Sam runs errands by herself. She’s avoiding him, and it was easy enough to make an excuse.

 

Jack and Amy are halfway through lunch by the time Sam gets home, and Jack looks at her apologetically, explaining that he’s got Amy on the fast track for a nap. Amy has been pushing back against nap time for the last couple of weeks, which Sam knows is normal for her age. But dashing up and down snow-covered hills in full winter gear will wear anyone out, and Amy doesn’t argue when Jack whisks her off to her room after lunch.

 

Sam is loading the dishwasher when Jack comes back downstairs, his mission accomplished. He glances around Amy’s play room, which looks like a tornado hit, and starts picking up. Sam wipes her hands on a dish towel and sighs as she turns toward the play room. She has no idea, none at all, how to have this talk with him, but she needs to do it. Now.

 

Then she hears Jack chuckle to himself. “I can’t believe we still have all the pieces to this puzzle,” he says.

 

It’s all Sam can do to keep her jaw from dropping. _We?_ She thinks. Since when do _we_ have a puzzle together?

 

She looks up and sees him holding a box of puzzles that Amy got the previous Christmas, over a year ago. It’s one of those disasters waiting to happen, a toy set that was obviously designed by someone who never spent any time with children, because it’s 4 twelve-piece puzzles in one box with a lid that doesn’t even close properly. Amy had instantly fallen in love with the puzzles themselves, and with the 48 little puzzle pieces as endless fodder for her imagination. They’ve been cookies, boats, frisbees, flowers, halloween candy. They’ve been hidden in Easter eggs, they’ve been buried treasure, they’ve been upstairs and outside and missing for sometimes weeks on end. And somehow, eventually, they always rematerialize right back where they belong.

 

Jack, of all people, knows the exciting lives these puzzle pieces have led, so Sam understands his amazement. Any other day, she’d maybe even find it funny, and tell him how she recently rescued a whole handful of them from inside one of Amy’s lesser-used shoes. But today, all she can think is, _we?_

 

“Crap,” Jack says suddenly, glancing at his watch. “I gotta go. Daniel is getting a new couch today, and I told him I’d help him haul out the old one. Sometimes I think that guy is just using me for my truck.”

 

Sam stares at him, unmoving. _We??_

 

Jack pauses, apparently sensing something amiss in her lack of a reaction to his cheap shot at Daniel. “Or… I could blow him off and stay here and finish cleaning up?” he says. “I do always like pissing him off for no reason.”

 

Sam gives herself a mental shake. “No,” she says. “Go.” She winces at her abruptness, at how much that sounds like an order. The truth is, she’s hardly spoken to him all day, except to speak about Amy, and isn’t that exactly how they got into this mess in the first place? “I mean, you can go, sir, if you need to go. It’s fine.”

 

Jack frowns. “Did you need my truck for something?”

 

“No, of course not.” Sam straightens up a bit. “I don’t need anything. Sir.”

 

“Ok,” he says, drawing out the word a bit as he pulls on his jacket. “See ya Monday then?”

 

He’s out the door and halfway down the driveway to his truck before she can respond. “Yep,” she says to her empty house. “See ya.”

 

—

 

Jack hates having gaps in his memory as much as the next guy, but it seems likely that SG-1’s encounter on P4X-884—and more importantly, with its distinguished ambassador, Urgo—was less horror show and more comedy routine. At least they finally got the guy out of their heads.

 

“I wonder what happened to Urgo,” Carter says as they wait in the infirmary for their post-mission med evals.

 

“Carter, don’t even start,” Jack says, though he loves that look of wonder on her face, and he secretly shares in it more often than he can let on, at least in front of other people. “You ever hear what curiosity did to the cat? You’d be amazed at what it does to scientists.”

 

Jack thinks this was a clever thing to say, and he expects some kind of reaction from her, maybe one of those little grins where she has to press her lips together to keep from smiling too brightly at him. He loves it when she grins like that.

 

But today, there’s no grin, no reaction for him at all. She just looks down at her hands, folded in her lap.

 

“Oh come on, Jack,” Daniel says. “You can’t honestly tell me you aren’t at least a little curious about what happened to him?”

 

“I’m not,” Jack says emphatically.

 

“Nor am I,” Teal’c agrees.

 

Jack nods approvingly at Teal’c, and then glances again at Carter, who’s acting like she’s no longer interested. “And I’m not going to talk to Hammond, and we’re not going to send a team back to 884 on a good-will mission in search of Carter’s new favorite life form,” he tries. Any other day, she would roll her eyes at him, and then he’d raise his eyebrows back at her in a playful reproach, and then she’d maybe smile, or maybe duck her chin to try hide the fact that she’s smiling, except he always knows.

 

But today she does nothing, says nothing. He can see that her jaw is tense, her lips bent into a studious frown, and she seems very focused on a spot on her left hand.

 

It’s unlike her, though come to think of it, she has been a little bit off lately.

 

After their med evals, SG-1 parades dutifully to the briefing room for their post-mission debrief. Having no memory of the mission, there isn’t much to say, so after wasting a minute reviewing the nothing they know for sure about 884, they turn their attention to their upcoming mission to P5C-768.

 

It’s a far-flung planet, clear on the other side of the galaxy. SG-4 has already made first contact and discovered rich deposits of naquadah in the soil. SG-1 is going in now to negotiate a treaty with the small civilization there that has no use for naquadah but otherwise seems nice enough. While they’re there, they’re supposed to catch the annual meteor shower, which Jack is secretly pretty jazzed about, though he would never admit to feeling _jazzed_ about anything to anyone.

 

He looks at Carter, sitting across from him, still staring at the back of her hand. She probably knows he’s jazzed. She’d never give him up, though. His secret is safe with her.

 

SG-1 departs tomorrow at 1500 and will be gone for two days. They’ve been encouraged not to show up at the SGC until after lunchtime, since they’ve been quarantined on base or detained on a mystery planet for nearly three days now.

 

Maybe all this time away from Amy is what’s got Carter out of sorts, Jack muses to himself as he drives home that evening. They’d first left for Urgo’s planet on Monday morning, and it was supposed to be a quick, easy mission—a nice one, even—standard recon on a tropical beach. She should’ve been back in plenty of time to have dinner with Amy on Monday night, but now it’s late Wednesday, past dinner time. Amy will probably head straight to bed once she and Carter get home, and they’ll have just half a day together before Carter takes off again tomorrow.

 

Jack had tried to catch her eye, or her arm, anything, after their debrief, to see if he could grab take-out for them, but she’d pretty much disappeared from the mountain as soon as possible. And no wonder, Jack realizes. It’s really unusual for SG-1 to spend so many nights off-world in one week. And it’s unfortunate that there’s no way to reschedule this mission to P5C-768, unless Carter could get the meteor shower to hold off for a couple days. It seems like something she could maybe do.

 

Jack pulls into his garage and kills the engine. His own dinner prospects for the night are not so great. He wonders what Sam is having as he pokes through the sorry contents of his fridge. That chicken parmesan she made last week was amazing. Jack smiles a little to himself as he thinks about how someone who doesn’t know her—someone who only knows the genius scientist or the consummate soldier—would probably assume she subsists on power bars and crappy commissary food. But on top of everything else, she’s a great cook.

 

Jack knows that his own cooking skills are somewhat more limited, but he’s always believed in rising to the occasion, and he recently picked up a new recipe book from the grocery store. He’s hoping he can find something in there that will really knock Carter’s socks off this weekend. Maybe he’ll flip through it later tonight.

 

Jack sighs as he looks between his top three contenders for tonight’s dinner: frozen pizza, leftover Chinese food, and a box of fish-shaped mac and cheese, which he’d bought with Amy in mind. It doesn’t help that there’s something inherently depressing to him about eating alone on a Wednesday night.

 

He decides on the Chinese food, which is the easiest to prepare and has the shortest shelf life, if it hasn’t passed its expiration date already. He drums his fingers on the counter while the microwave does its thing and thinks about giving Sam a call to see what she’s having. Maybe Heather sent her home with leftovers. She does that sometimes.

 

Three minutes later, he’s sitting on his couch with his food and a beer, a college basketball game on TV. He’s been surprised to find himself really getting into it this year. He digs into his leftovers and watches as Ohio State wipes the floor with the University of Iowa.

 

He thinks again about what a difficult week this must be for Sam and Amy. Sam works so hard and gives so much of herself to her daughter and her team. He hopes they have something nice planned for the morning, their one small window of time together this week. In fact, he thinks, as he finishes up the leftovers that were honestly probably best by yesterday, maybe the three of them could go out for breakfast to make up for the dinner they missed tonight.

 

Jack decides he’ll give Sam a call first thing in the morning. He falls asleep thinking about tall stacks of pancakes and the way Sam softly sighs when she takes that first sip of her coffee.

 

He’s surprised when she shows up at his house early the next morning.

 

“Hey,” he says with a warm smile. At first, he thinks maybe she’d somehow read his mind about breakfast, but then he notices that the look on her face is serious and that Amy is nowhere in sight. His smile falls. “Where’s Amy? Is she ok?"

 

“She’s fine,” Sam replies. “She’s at Mark and Heather’s. Can I come in?"

 

“Sure.” He steps aside and she makes her way down to his living room, but she doesn’t sit. She doesn’t start talking either, she just sort of wrings her hands, like she’s nervous. This makes Jack nervous too. He does not like feeling nervous.

 

“So,” he prompts, “this is not about Amy?”

 

“Actually, it is."

 

“Ok. But she’s fine?"

 

“Yeah.” Sam says. She swallows hard and then continues. “Last night she asked me to tell her the story about the time you and I went hunting for invisible flying monsters and found the magical Nox people."

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

“So I asked her what other kind of stories you tell her."

 

“Oh.”

 

She pauses a moment—he suspects this is where he’s supposed to jump in and explain himself—but when he doesn’t say anything, she keeps going. “Sir, it’s classified. All of it. Highly classified."

 

Obviously, he knows that. But what he doesn’t know is why this has got her so edgy. “I thought you knew I told her stories about the Stargate,” he says honestly. He specifically remembers her being around for that one about the alien ball thing.

 

“I didn’t know you told her about the Nox,” she shoots back, her voice sharp and loud. “And the Argosians? Machello? The quantum mirror? I mean, really, sir?”

 

“Ok, first off, I tell her all sorts of stories all the time, and most of them are not the least bit classified,” he says. He feels his hackles rising a bit, because putting Amy to bed is an art that he perfected a long time ago, and this feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. “In fact,” he says, pointing his finger at her for emphasis, “her favorite movie right now is about an asshole who gets turned into an actual beast and all of his servants get turned into talking furniture.” His voice is kind of loud now too, but he’s trying to make a point. “What the hell is so bad about the Nox, compared to that?"

 

Her mouth drops open, like she can’t believe he just said that. “The Nox are a race of advanced aliens we met on another planet, that’s what!”

 

“Well, I left that part out,” he says, though honestly, he doesn’t see what the big deal with that would be either. Kids’ books and TV shows have people traveling to outer space all the time. Jack thinks Amy would probably be more surprised to learn that, at least as far as the public knows, humans haven’t made it past the moon.

 

“That’s not the point,” she snaps.

 

Jack scowls and throws his hands up in the air.  “What _is_ the point, Carter?"

 

“The point is that making bedtime stories out of classified government information is wrong."

 

Jack narrows his eyes at her. Who is she tell him what’s right and what’s wrong? Telling Amy stories about the Stargate has always felt profoundly _right_ to him. It was the Stargate, after all, that brought him back to life after Charlie died. It was the Stargate that gave him back a sense of wonder and adventure, that stirred his imagination and tugged at his heart strings in ways he cannot otherwise describe. And it’s through Amy’s bedtime stories that he tries to impart this same sense of wonder to her, to stir her imagination and spark her own excitement for life.

 

But she’s got him feeling defensive now, so instead of any of that, he says, “Since when do you give me orders?"

 

“Since she’s _my_ daughter,” she shouts back at him, “not yours!”

 

Jack freezes. Standing in front of him, Sam seems frozen too, and she’s got a look on her face like she’s surprised, or something else he can’t quite place. For a moment, he feels his growing annoyance give way to concern. Did she really come here to fight about bedtime stories? Or is there something else she’s not saying?

 

So he relaxes his posture and takes a deep breath. “Look, Sam —" he starts, but she cuts him off.

 

“Oh no,” she shouts, taking a step back. “Don’t ‘look Sam’ me. Don’t you dare!”

 

Well what the hell. He can’t call her Sam? Daniel calls her Sam. Janet calls her Sam. He’s even heard Hammond call her Sam. He’s getting annoyed again. No, he’s getting worse than annoyed. He’s getting mad. “So now I can’t call you _by your name?_ ” He can hear the contempt in his voice, he can see her flinch at his tone.

 

But she’s never been easily intimidated. She recovers quickly, narrows her eyes right back at him and says, “You can’t _start_ calling me by my name now, sir."

 

“Oh for crying out loud,” he exclaims. Any other time, he would find it amusing that she’s insisting on formalities in such a decidedly personal context. But he’s not in the mood for feeling amused right now. In fact, for some reason, the whole “sir” thing is really pissing him off all of a sudden. “Could you drop the ‘sir’ for five minutes?” He’s almost shouting too, because this is just ridiculous, and how can she not see that?

 

“No I can’t!” she yells, and then she repeats it more quietly but just as insistent, “I can’t."

 

And there’s that look on her face again, but this time, Jack knows what it is: she’s afraid. It’s so unlike anything he’s used to seeing on her that he almost missed it. This fight isn’t about bedtime stories at all. There’s something she’s not saying and she’s practically begging him to figure it out. Jack thinks back desperately on the last week, the last month, the last couple months, trying to figure out what it might be.

 

They’re quiet for a long moment, breathing heavily and staring at each other as the early morning sunlight pours through the windows into Jack’s living room. “Hey,” he says finally, tentatively, “we aren’t doing anything wrong."

 

He can see immediately that this was the wrong thing to say, because her fists clench and her face gets even redder and when she speaks, she’s yelling again. “And what _are_ we doing, exactly?”

 

Jack’s eyes go wide. “What?” he bellows. “We talked about this!” It was months ago now, that strange day, that unexpected kiss, that stilted conversation in her lab. “You said you didn’t want things to change.” He starts to panic a little, because he’s thought about that conversation a lot, actually, and he doesn’t like to think he got it wrong. He thought they were doing pretty well. He thought he was doing right by her, and Amy. He’d worked hard at it. For months now.

 

“Well what the hell was I supposed to say?”

 

Jack opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Is she saying she didn’t mean it, all those months ago? “What the hell are you saying now?” His eyes are narrowed and his voice is loud and he knows he probably sounds angry, but he’s not angry, he’s terrified.

 

“I’m saying I want things to change!” she shouts back.

 

All the confusion and anger and fear of the last five minutes suddenly fall away, and Jack’s mouth drops open, he’s staring at her, because oh god, he wants things to change too, almost more than he can bear. He’s tried so hard not to, but now that she’s said it, he can’t hold it back anymore.

 

He wants her, all of her. He wants her Wednesdays and her Saturdays and every day in between. He wants sleepy mornings and busy days and unending nights together. He wants to touch her, to make her smile, make her laugh, make her cry out his name. He wants to hold her hand.

 

His heart is pounding wildly now, he can hear his ragged breathing and the blood rushing in his ears, because is this what she wants too? Change? He wants to take two steps forward and pull her into his arms and kiss her until she doesn’t feel afraid, or worried, or anything bad, until she forgets every other kiss she’s ever had. He wants to make love to her right here in his living room, or maybe his bedroom, or hers, or the cabin, oh god, he wants to take her up to the cabin and lay her out on the —

 

But then he notices that she’s moving. He was quiet for too long, and she’s stepping past him. She’s walking away.

 

“I gotta go,” she mumbles as she darts up the steps and out the door.

 

“Wait,” Jack finally says.

 

But it’s too late. She’s already gone.

 

—

 

Jack looks everywhere for her that afternoon at the SGC. He knows he messed it up this morning and he has to talk to her, they _have_ to finish this conversation.

 

He is well aware that changes between them would mean changes for SG-1, and he doesn’t care. He’s lived through too many things to think his work is somehow more important, more fulfilling, than the chance at a life with her would be. They could be together. They—all three of them—could be a family. He’d happily step down from SG-1, he’d walk away from this mission they’re supposed to be getting ready for right now, if she really was saying what he thinks she was saying.

 

He finally finds her on level 18, walking towards the elevator. He calls out to her, and her eyes dart around the hallway like she’s looking for an escape hatch, but Jack is not deterred. He approaches cautiously, greets her sincerely, he even goes so far as to put his hand on her elbow, but she jerks her arm away, calls him _sir_ and takes off so fast you’d think there was an unauthorized incoming wormhole somewhere.

 

So much for that.

 

He doesn’t see her again until they’re in the gate room, ready to embark. He’s desperate to catch her gaze, but she won’t look him in the eye. Instead, the team walks up the ramp together, like they always do, like nothing at all is amiss.

 

But maybe this mission is just what they need, Jack decides as they approach the event horizon. It's true that they won't be able to finish their conversation from this morning while they're on the clock, but maybe a nice, easy jaunt to some primitive little planet will help reestablish some normalcy. They’ll watch the meteor shower, they’ll get some naquadah, they’ll make friends with the locals and kvetch with Daniel and Teal’c about the MREs, and then they’ll feel better and come home and talk, really talk, about the changes they both want and how they’ll make them happen together.

 

It’s only a two-day mission. He can wait that long.

 

Feeling somewhat bolstered by this plan, Jack takes a deep breath and tosses one more glance her way as and they walk toward the active wormhole. _What's this planet called again?_ he wonders to himself. _Eureka? Ebola? El Dorado?_

 

 _Oh yeah_ , he remembers. _Edora._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, just a quick note, I've been updating this fic about once a week for the last several chapters, but this chapter took longer than that, and the upcoming ones will too, because they are hard. I mean, you remember what happens on Edora, right? And then Shades of Grey right after that? **shudders**


	28. A Hundred Days, Part 1

Sam stands at the Stargate with Teal’c while the meteors rain down around them, balls of fire tearing through the sky and crashing into Edora. Her hand is on her radio and her eyes never stop scanning the trees for some sign of Jack. He should be back by now.

 

She’d had a bad feeling about this fire rain. She’d had a bad feeling about this whole damn mission.

 

“Colonel, please respond!” she shouts into her radio, straining to hear anything over the sound of the world exploding around her.

 

All she gets in reply is static. 

 

Next to her, Teal’c shakes his head, and Sam’s mouth goes dry, she know what he’s about to say.

 

“Our position becomes too dangerous to remain,” Teal’c warns.

 

“I’m not leaving without him,” Sam shouts back, trying and mostly failing to fight back the panic that’s building in her chest at the very thought of it. “Colonel!” she yells again into her radio. “Colonel, what is your position?”

 

—

 

Jack, huddled in the caves with Laira, Garren, and Naitha, smacks his radio against his hand and gives it a shake for good measure. He can hear Sam trying to reach him, but for some reason, she can’t hear him. 

 

“Move _out_ , Carter!” he shouts into it.

 

His eyes dart frantically around the caves as the rock walls shake, the ominous thundering of the meteors making it hard to hear or talk or think. But he’ll be damned if something happens to Sam because she was waiting on him.

 

The radio chirps again, and he can hear Sam’s voice for a moment before it cuts out abruptly.

 

Laira catches his eye, she looks like she’s about to say something, but before she can, Jack presses the button on his radio and shouts, “Carter! Get the hell off this planet! _That’s an order!_ ”

 

—

 

They barely make it through the gate in time, and they stumble onto the ramp at the SGC. Teal’c is still gripping Sam’s arm as she drops her hands to her knees and tries to breathe. 

 

“Major, report!” the General orders, but she can’t, she’s having a hard enough time trying to stand up straight. After a moment, Teal’c jumps in.

 

“Colonel O'Neill was attempting to locate some remaining villagers,” he says. “Major Carter and I waited at the Stargate until the last possible moment.”

 

“I know you did,” Hammond says to Teal’c. “We almost lost you.” He turns back to Sam, and he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know that he’s concerned on more than one level. Maybe he’s noticed that her distress at leaving Jack behind is less professional and more personal. A lot more personal.

 

But she can’t waste time worrying about pretenses right now.

 

“Sergeant,” she says, standing finally and looking away from the General, up to the control room, “redial Edora. We need to get back there as soon as possible.” She’s giving too much away, she knows she is, but she can’t help herself. She has to try.

 

“I believe that would be unwise, Major Carter,” Teal’c says. “The area around the Stargate is highly unstable.” His voice is firm but there’s an edge of sympathy in his tone that makes her want to hit him. She doesn’t need to be coddled right now. She needs to get back to that planet and find Jack.

 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” she shoots back, even as she realizes he’s right. That last meteor looked like it was heading straight for the gate. In fact, those fluctuations in wormhole stability Hammond mentioned might indicate that the meteor impacted the gate itself, which in turn might mean…

 

She sways a little on her feet as Hammond narrows his eyes at her. “Well I’m not, Major,” he says sternly. He turns to the control room and shakes his head at the Sergeant. “We’ll wait 24 hours and send a MALP through. If it’s safe to return, we’ll send a rescue party at that time.”

 

Sam squeezes her eyes shut and does her best not to think about how it might already be too late.

 

—

 

Jack has been doing his best to hold it together in the caves for the last four days, but when they finally emerge and Haynan tells him that the Stargate is gone, he gives up all pretense of composure and runs outside. Where the gate used to stand, there is now nothing but a vast crater.

 

He can hear Sam’s voice in his head, asking for his position, asking for him to respond. Was she standing right here, calling for him still, when the meteor hit?

 

Laira is three steps behind him at the site of the impact. “It’s gone,” she says. “I’ll never see my people again. They can never come home.”

 

Jack clenches his teeth. _Never_ is a strong word, too strong a word to use when Sam Carter is involved. If she made it through, she’s probably got a solution figured out already. _If she made it through._ He drops his head and rubs his hands over his hair. Jesus. There wouldn’t even be a body to find.

 

Laira steps closer to him and lays a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure your friends arrived safely at your planet.” He can see how quickly she’s switched back into leader mode, already trying to console him, like she’ll soon be consoling everyone else. “As I’m sure mine did too. They will start a new life there.” 

 

Jack sighs. He knows she’s just trying to establish some common ground between them, but the Edorans who evacuated had cleared the Stargate long before the worst of the impacts, long before Sam was still trying to reach him on her radio.

 

“And you…” Laira says.

 

Jack shrugs her off, walks farther into the crater, and kicks at the dirt. He really, really wishes there was something he could hit. But all around him there is only empty nothingness.

 

—

 

Every attempt to reach Edora fails. Sam’s only conclusion is that the meteor she and Teal’c saw did strike the gate while it was active, and the molten naquadah hardened just above the event horizon, creating, in essence, an iris, just as impenetrable as the one on Earth.

 

Except Earth’s iris isn’t actually impenetrable. Sokar showed them that.

 

Sam figures it out pretty quickly, considering the state of mind she’s been in ever since she left Jack behind in a firestorm. She thinks she can use a particle beam, just like Sokar did, to destabilize and ultimately break through the hardened naquadah barrier covering Edora’s gate.

 

The only problem is that you can’t requisition a particle beam generator. She’ll have to build one. And that takes time.

 

Sam picks Amy up on Wednesday afternoon after getting the go-ahead from Hammond to move forward with her plan. She’s been putting off Amy’s questions about where Jack is, but she knows she can’t do that forever. And now, at least, she has something to say.

 

Amy is discarding her winter gear in a pile on the floor just inside the door from the garage. “Is Jack almost here?” she asks.

 

Sam takes a deep breath and kneels down, taking Amy’s hands in hers. Amy gives her a confused look but Sam just squeezes her hands and says, “Jack isn’t going to be coming over for a while.”

 

Amy frowns. “Why?”

 

“He’s gone. For a while. A couple weeks.” Five weeks, maybe six, Sam figures.

 

Amy’s frown deepens. “Where is he?”

 

“He’s far away,” Sam says. “He got… he’s stuck somewhere, and he can’t come home for a while.” She’d rehearsed this conversation a million times in her head, but it sounds so much more flimsy and hollow out loud. “I’m working on it though, I’m going to get him home. It’s just going to take some time.”

 

Amy narrows her eyes at Sam. “I want to call him,” she says, and Sam sighs.

 

“We can’t.”

 

Amy pulls away from Sam’s grasp. “Why?” She’s angry now, her voice raised and her hands in little balls at her sides.

 

“Because he’s too far,” Sam says. She bites her lip and wonders if it would be better to spin some exotic lie, something adventurous and exciting and fun, instead of this empty thread of heavily-redacted truth she has to offer. 

 

“But I miss him,” Amy says, tears building in her eyes.

 

“I know, baby,” Sam says, pulling Amy into her arms as her own eyes fill with tears. “Me too.”

 

—

 

It’s been two weeks now. During the day, Jack works the fields alongside scared and tired people, people who are grieving, people who are worried about the winter ahead. At night he returns to the impact crater that used to have a Stargate and he digs.

 

He’s looking for something, anything, a DHD, a chevron poking out of the dirt. The ground is rock hard from the heat of the impact, and the crater itself is so large, and he doesn’t really expect to make any progress, but he knows it’s not about the digging anyway. 

 

The digging is just something to do while he waits.

 

He’s waiting for her. 

 

On the fifteenth day, Laira meets him at the crater just after sunset and holds out her hand.

 

He stops digging and leans on his shovel. “What?”

 

“I’ve come to take you home,” she says. Jack has been staying at her house, one of only a few untouched by the meteors. “Come.” She waves her hand at him a little bit.

 

“Home.” Jack turns back to the crater and thinks about his home, his own home, back on Planet Earth. He thinks about Sam at his house that day, how she’d yelled at him about bedtime stories and told him she wanted things to change. He’s thought about that conversation a thousand times in the last two weeks. He can see the sun in her hair and the fury and fear and hope in her eyes. He wonders if she thinks he’s dead. He wonders if she is. Maybe he’ll never know.

 

Every night, as Jack digs through the dirt and rock, he also digs through his memories of Sam, replaying them over and over, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love. It’s a futile endeavor, of course, and it certainly doesn’t help that he’d made such an effort not to fall in love with her in the first place. But from his position here, an impossible distance away, it’s clear that he was an idiot, the worst kind of fool, for not saying something sooner, for not taking those two steps across his living room and pulling her into his arms. 

 

And now all he can do is wait for her to do the impossible, to summon a working Stargate out of nothing, so he can go home to her.

 

Luckily, doing the impossible is Sam Carter’s specialty.

 

“Yes,” Laira says, breaking his reverie and nodding her head toward what remains of the village. “Home.” Her hand is still outstretched.

 

With a sigh, Jack shoulders his shovel and follows her back to the house.

 

—

 

Sam’s work schedule has evened out; with SG-1 off the mission rotation, she works regular hours, never goes off-world, and picks Amy up at the same time every night. After Amy goes to bed, she works some more, until she passes out herself, or until the sky begins to turn a dusty, early morning grey.

 

But having a more reliable schedule hasn’t made things easy at home by any stretch. Amy misses Jack, she’s confused and upset, and Sam doesn’t have the reserves to deal with Amy’s misery on top of her own.

 

Sometimes, when Sam picks Amy up in the evening, Amy just sits down on the floor and pouts. It’s a far cry from when she used to run and greet Sam with a hug and smile. Other times, when she’s not pouting, Amy is angry, losing her temper over nonexistent infractions and refusing to calm down. The worst is when she tells Sam that she doesn’t want to go home at all, that she’d rather stay at her cousins’ house.

 

So sometimes, Sam deals with Amy by avoiding her. She leaves Amy with Mark and Heather overnight, she stays at the mountain, and she works, cut off from everything but her particle beam generator. It feels good to lose herself in this task, to let herself be blind to the rest of the world and focus on nothing else. 

 

“You working through the night again?” It’s Janet, standing over her shoulder. Funny, she didn’t even hear Janet walk into her lab.

 

“Yeah. Lots of work to do.” Sam hopes Janet will take it as the brush-off that it is and let her get back to her work, but then she notices the cup of coffee Janet is holding out for her. That’s good. Sam has no plans to sleep tonight, and she definitely needs more coffee. “Thank you,” she says. 

 

Sam doesn’t know what’s kept Janet on base so late tonight, she has no clue at all what’s going on with the other SG teams. It must be something significant. She vaguely remembers a time in her life when she would’ve been curious.

 

“Look, Sam,” Janet says, and Sam bites her lip but doesn’t look away from her computer monitor. _Here it comes,_ she thinks. “There’s no doubt you’re going to solve this, but you have to accept the fact that it’s going to take time.”

 

“Yeah, well, if I think that way it could take months.” It’s been three weeks already, and it’s clear this won’t be done by her initial five-week projection.

 

“Daniel says the Tollan could have a ship in the vicinity of Edora sometime early next year.”

 

Sam shakes her head. “He shouldn’t have to wait that long.” He shouldn’t have to wait, she shouldn’t have to wait, Amy shouldn’t have to wait. They’ve done so goddamn much waiting.

 

Sam hears Janet sigh. “You miss him.”

 

Sam freezes. “Janet…” she says. God, she misses him so much, so much that if she thinks about it at all, she’s afraid it will consume her. So she doesn’t think about it. She doesn’t think about Amy thinking about it. All she thinks about is her particle beam generator. It’s the only thing that’s safe. “It’s not a problem,” Sam says, hoping she somehow sounds firm, despite the shakiness of her voice.

 

“Oh, Sam, honey,” Janet says, laying a hand on Sam’s arm. “I think it is.” 

 

That’s all it takes for Sam to break. She leans forward, bracing her arms against the desk in front of her and letting her head drop. “I tried so hard,” she says in a whisper, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself not to cry.

 

In a rush, she remembers that morning at his house, the day they left for Edora. She didn’t even care about the damn bedtime stories, but she’d been so spooled for a fight that she’d picked one. And when she’d finally gotten around to saying what she’d really gone there to say, he’d said nothing at all. 

 

She would do anything to go back to that morning and try again, she _will_ do anything. She’ll try harder, work harder, she’ll stretch the laws of physics, she’ll stay up all night, every night, she won’t ever stop and she won’t ever rest.

 

“I know you tried,” Janet says. “And you’re trying hard at this, and Sam, I know you’ll get there.” Janet’s hand is on her back now, patting her reassuringly like she’s a child. “But right now, you’ve got to go home, ok?”

 

“But I _need_ to work on the —“

 

“Sam,” Janet says, “go home to your daughter.”

 

—

 

Three weeks pass, and every night, Jack digs.

 

In addition to replaying the memories he has, he now thinks about the memories they have yet to make, because when he gets home—and he will get home—things are going to change, just like Sam said.

 

He’s retiring, for one. He’s going to take care of that right away. He’ll happily do any paperwork they throw at him, and when he and Sam have their talk about changes, they won’t have their ranks hanging over their heads.

 

He’s going to take her on a date. They could get steak. He knows some good steak places. He’s not usually one for fancy restaurants and stuffy clothes, but he likes the idea of Sam in low lighting, smiling at him over a candle and a glass of whatever she wants, and neither of them having to do the dishes when the meal is done.

 

He has other ideas for what they could do after the meal. He tries not to let himself get too lost in that train of thought.

 

He has more plans too. He wants to take Amy up to the roof, show her his telescope. They spend a lot of time at his place during daylight hours, but evenings are usually at the Carter’s. He imagines a future where they might do evening stuff at his house too. And then, after Amy goes to bed in the guest room, he and Sam might do… other evening stuff.

 

Jack pauses to wipe his brow. It’s a little bit warmer tonight than usual, but not by much. Every day on this planet is the same. The weather is the same, the work is the same, the food is the same, the couple dozen people are the same. But at night, while he digs, his dreams about his homecoming are wide and wondrous.

 

He’s going to take them to the cabin. They will love it, both of them, he knows they will. If Sam gets him home soon, it will still be winter there. They can play in the snow and drink hot chocolate by the fire; he can teach Amy to skate on the pond. If he doesn’t get home until spring or summer, that’s fine too, they can fish, they can hike, go on picnics, pick flowers. And fall, well, fall in northern Minnesota is heavenly, Amy would definitely use that word, and Sam would too. They could sit on the dock in the cool, early morning and watch the fog lift from the pond against a backdrop of reds and golds and oranges and yellows, the air thick with the smell of pine needles and falling leaves and snow just around the corner.

 

He really hopes he’s home by Christmas. Any season at the cabin is good, but Christmas at the cabin is the best.

 

In his peripheral vision, Jack sees Laira approaching from the village. He stops digging and checks his watch; it’s about that time. Sighing, he tosses one more shovelful of rocks and turns to leave. 

 

—

 

The next Saturday morning, Janet stops by with Cassie. They bring a half-dozen donuts, a latte for Sam, and a plastic cup of orange juice for Amy that has a bendy straw. Amy is enamored with the bendy straw, and the donuts, and the company. 

 

It’s not what they used to do on Saturday mornings, but it’s a hell of a lot better than what they’ve done for the last month. And it’s nice to see Amy happy, for a change.

 

On Thursday, Daniel and Teal’c tell Sam they’re bringing dinner over. Sam raises her eyebrows at them; it’s a bit more forward than they would usually be with her family life, and she wonders if maybe this is Janet’s doing. They both look somewhat uncomfortable but determined when they tell her they’ll be there by 6:00.

 

The doorbell rings that evening, and even though Sam has told Amy that Daniel and Teal’c are coming over, even though Jack hasn’t bothered with the doorbell in months, Amy’s eyes go wide. “It’s Jack!” she says.

 

“No, Amy,” Sam says, but Amy is already up and running to the front door, her head down and her arms swinging. “It’s not Jack,” Sam calls after her, though she knows Amy won’t hear it.

 

“Jack!” Amy shouts, pulling the door open, and there, as expected, are Daniel and Teal’c. Teal’c nods at Amy, but Daniel looks up at Sam.

 

And then Amy begins to cry, not the gentle tears of a disappointed child; she is wailing, loudly, tears streaming down her face and drool spilling out of her open mouth. She collapses to the floor, and even from across the room, Sam can see that her whole body is shaking.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Sam says, though she’s not sure who she’s apologizing to. She approaches Amy cautiously and lays a hand on her back, which only makes Amy twitch away and scream louder. 

 

Sam sits back on her heels, staring at her daughter, clueless as to how to proceed. It doesn’t help that this reminds her quite vividly of another tantrum Amy threw, a year and a half ago in almost the same spot with almost the same audience, after she’d lost her Nana. Jack had known what to do then, for Amy and for Sam. But Jack isn’t here this time, and that’s exactly the problem.

 

Finally, it’s Teal’c who makes a move. He squats down next to Amy and puts his face as close to hers as he can. “Amelia Carter,” he says, and she can’t help but stop wailing and look up at the sound of his deep voice. Once her eyes have locked with his, he continues. “We have brought cupcakes.”

 

Amy sniffles. “Can I have one?”

 

Teal’c spares a glance for Sam, who nods, and then he meets Amy’s gaze again. “After you have consumed the required quantity of vegetables, you can.”

 

“Ok,” Amy says. She sniffles again and lets Teal’c help her stand up. They walk hand-in-hand to the kitchen, but Sam stays down on the floor. 

 

She looks up to see Daniel reaching out to her. “Need a hand?” he asks gently.

 

“No,” she says automatically. “I think I just need a minute.” 

 

She needs so many things she can’t have right now. 

 

—

 

Jack has stopped digging now, he’s too tired. A month of hard labor by day and by night has caught up with him. But he still comes to the crater and sits. He still dreams. 

 

Laira meets him out there most nights at dusk. Sometimes she sits with him for awhile. Usually, she doesn’t say much, but today, it seems, she wants to talk.

 

“Why do you come here?”

 

It’s a fair question. They work hard every day, as hard as they can. Every night, they eat only enough to quiet their stomachs, to get through the night, to get through the next day. And everyone goes to bed after the evening meal, hoping the long hours of nothingness will fortify them for the tasks ahead. Everyone except Jack.

 

“My team is coming back for me,” he says. 

 

Laira smiles carefully. “But the Stone Ring is gone,” she says. He thinks she’s trying not to sound patronizing, but it’s a hard sell. 

 

Jack clenches his jaw. “They’ll find a way.” He doesn’t know if she’s genuinely curious or unflaggingly hitting on him or if she’s just trying to get him to fall in line with the others, who don’t spend their nights staring up at the stars, wishing they were somewhere else.

 

“Would they not have come for you by now, if there was a way?”

 

“You don’t know her,” he shoots back sharply before he can stop himself.

 

Laira is quiet for a long moment, and then she says, “Major Carter?” 

 

Jack, doesn’t answer, he just closes his eyes and remembers: Sam taking out Hathor, taking out Seth, beating the shit out of that warlord she was sold to; Sam figuring out how to dial the Stargate, how to free him from those microorganisms that took over his body, how to time-travel by solar flare; Sam keeping them alive in Antarctica, staying with Cassie when she was supposed to explode, surviving Jolinar. There is nothing, _nothing_ she can’t do.

 

“I’m sorry,” Laira says after a moment. “I didn’t realize that you and Major Carter were... together.”

 

Jack opens his eyes and clears his throat. He could correct her, or he could clarify, but what would be the point? Whatever he and Sam are to each other, technically speaking, doesn’t begin to encompass everything that she is to him. So instead he just straightens up a bit and says, “I know her. She always finds a way. Every single time.” He punctuates each of the last words with what he hopes is enough meaning for Laira to understand that he will not be moved from his evening vigils.

 

Laira nods and looks back out over the expanse before them. “After my husband died, I mourned for a hundred days,” she starts to say, but Jack isn’t really listening.

 

Sam will find a way, he tells himself. She is alive and well, on Planet Earth, and she will find a way.

 

—

 

The five week mark comes and goes, and Sam has to acknowledge that building this particle beam generator will take longer, maybe even twice as long as she’d originally projected. 

 

She’s is doing a better job of going home at night, thanks to gentle but persistent reminders from Janet, but she’s still not convinced that it’s what’s best for Amy. She doesn’t feel like a good parent right now. She doesn’t know how to give Amy the care that she needs. 

 

Jack would know, if he were here.

 

It’s not just that Amy’s missing Jack. Amy has picked up all sorts of new habits lately, totally unrelated to Jack, and without fail, they are driving Sam crazy. Amy has started demanding Sam’s help with things she used to happily do by herself, like putting on her socks, or going to the bathroom. She seems to have discovered lying, and can no longer be counted on to give an accurate report as to whether she washed her hands or cleaned up her toys. She’s started using Sam’s arm to wipe her nose.

 

If Jack were here, some of these things would almost be funny, maybe.

 

The worst is that Amy has started asking _why_ about everything. Sam knows that this is a normal and healthy and good thing for a kid Amy’s age to do. But Amy’s “why” has become a knee-jerk reaction to everything Sam says, and the way she says it is so demanding and so disinterested at the same time, that Sam can’t help but feel annoyed.

 

“Can we go play outside?” Amy asks one evening after dinner.

 

Instantly, Sam is on the defensive. They never play outside after dinner, not in March, anyway. Why would Amy bother asking? Sam feels like she’s being set up to fail.  “No,” she says. “it’s almost bedtime.”

 

“Why?” Amy says.

 

“Because it’s 7:30. You need to brush your teeth.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To keep them healthy.”

 

“Why?” Amy’s voice sounds flat, like she’s annoying even herself.

 

“So they don’t fall out.”

 

“Why?” At this point, it’s hardly a question, it’s just a word, a mantra, something Amy says in the blank spaces. She’s not even looking at Sam, she’s just coloring in her book. 

 

Sam sighs and turns back to the dishes. “Clean up your crayons,” she says.

 

“But I said why to you!” Amy yells back, now looking directly at Sam. “Why so they don’t fall out?”

 

“Do you want your teeth to fall out, Amy?” Sam snaps. She hadn’t intended for it to come out so sarcastic, or so loud, but she’s really exasperated.

 

Amy’s crayon falls to the floor as she hangs her head and starts to cry.

 

—

 

Amy asks about Jack all the time.

 

Sam tries not to let it feel like when her mom died—because he’s not dead, _he's not dead_ —but Amy’s experience of his absence makes it hard to deny the comparison. The only difference now is that Amy is older, so she’s got a stronger sense of how things ought to be, a better memory to fall back on, and a significantly expanded vocabulary to give voice to her despair.

 

Sam knows Amy is smart enough to remember what she’s already told her a hundred times, that Jack is gone, that she can’t say where, and that she’s working very hard to get him back. But invariably, every few days, Amy will ask if Jack is coming for dinner, or if they can go to his house, or if they can call him.

 

“No,” Sam always says. “We can’t. Amy, you know we can’t.”

 

“Why,” Amy says quietly. Sometimes it breaks Sam’s heart and sometimes it makes her want to scream.

 

One evening, almost six weeks since they first went to Edora, Sam stands in Heather and Mark’s doorway and starts to lose her composure. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with her,” she says to Heather in a terrified whisper.

 

“She’s grieving,” Heather says. Amy is pouting on the floor in the living room, in Sam’s line of sight but out of earshot. “Just like you are.”

 

“He’s not dead,” Sam insists quietly, so Amy won’t hear.

 

“I know,” Heather says, though Sam can tell Heather’s not so sure.

 

That night, Sam and Amy go home, and Sam makes a frozen pizza for dinner. They eat cookies out of a box for dessert and go to bed early. They lay in Amy’s bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, the ones she and Jack put up together last summer, and Amy says, “Mama, tonight can you sing me the song Jack sings me?”

 

Sam closes her eyes. “I don’t know what song Jack sings you, sweetie.” She didn’t know Jack sang her any song at all. Why had she never thought about it, never asked?

 

“I think you know it,” Amy says.

 

Sam rubs her forehead. “How does it go?”

 

Softly, Amy begins to sing the song Jack used to sing to her, and when she gets to the chorus, “ _I can sing this song, and you can sing this song when I’m gone,_ ” Sam starts to cry, for the first time in what feels like a very long time.

 

When the song is over, Sam wipes her face with her sleeve as discreetly as she can and Amy says, “Do you know that song, mama?”

 

“Yes,” Sam says. “I do,” though the old James Taylor lullaby has never felt quite so melancholy before.

 

“I thought so.”

 

It’s quiet for a few breaths, and Sam wonders if Amy is going to fall asleep now, but then she hears her small voice say, “Mama, where is Jack right now?”

 

Sam sighs. “Amy…” she says, and then she shakes her head. This isn’t working. It’s time to try something new, something Jack would try. “He’s on another planet, very far away.” She takes a deep breath in and out. “He used a secret, magical door to get there, but while he was there, a meteor fell from the sky and broke the door.”

 

“A meteor?” Amy says. “Like with the dinosaurs?”

 

“Kind of like that.”

 

“Is he ok?” Amy asks in a whisper. They’d talked about the dinosaurs, Amy knows what a meteor did to them.

 

“I think so,” Sam says. “The problem is that the door is broken now, so he can’t come home. I’m trying to fix it for him, but it’s taking a long time, because I’m not there.”

 

“You’re here,” Amy says.

 

“I am,” Sam says, feeling a wave of guilt for how badly she’s failed to be present for her daughter at a time when Amy needs her.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, mama,” Amy says, snuggling closer to her. “I hope you can get Jack home soon.” Amy falls asleep and Sam, exhausted, falls asleep with her.

 

—

 

The next night, when Sam is tucking Amy into bed, Amy asks, “Mama, where _else_ is Jack right now?” 

 

Sam realizes in an instant what she’s asking. Amy thinks the story Sam told last night is a story Sam has made up—a good story, apparently—and she wants another one. Sam almost laughs with relief, and shakes her head gently.

 

“He accidentally got turned into a robot,” she says. 

 

“A robot?” Amy says, giving Sam an incredulous look.

 

“Yep,” Sam says. “He has to stay at the robot factory or else his battery will run out. But I’m helping the robot builder turn him back into a human so he can come home.”

 

“I like when Jack is a human. And when he comes home.”

 

And so it goes, every night now, Amy asks where else Jack is, and Sam tells her another story. Jack got trapped in a garden where you can’t even pick the flowers. Jack got turned into a bug. Jack got captured by a sea monster who’s trying to find his lost friend (“Jack already told me that one,” Amy says). Jack accidentally got stuck in a pyramid. Jack accidentally got stuck on a spaceship.

 

Some of Sam’s stories have seeds of truth, and some are completely made up. She tries to make the circumstances compelling without being too scary, without making Amy too concerned for Jack’s wellbeing. It helps that Amy doesn’t seem to actually believe these stories are true, or at least, she’s not caught up in the same literal understanding of what it means for something to be true. But in every story, it’s Sam’s responsibility to find a way to bring him home.

 

“I hope you can get Jack home soon,” Amy says every night with a sigh.

 

“I hope so too,” Sam says, kissing her daughter’s head. “I really hope so.”

 

 


	29. A Hundred Days, Part 2

It’s been over three months since Jack took up temporary residence on Edora, and it seems Haynan is finally coming around to him.

 

The whole village has been working together to rebuild houses damaged in the fire rain. Haynan’s is now liveable again, so he’s having a party tonight, and Jack somehow got on the invite list. Then again, everyone is on the invite list. There are only a handful of people left. And Jack did make the nails for Haynan’s new roof.

 

Dinner parties aren’t exactly Jack’s thing, but as he looks around Haynan’s house that evening, he’s glad he’s there. He doesn’t usually get to see these people relaxed and happy, and it’s a nice change.

 

Plus, there’s booze.

 

Jack throws back a glass of Haynan’s infamous homebrew and nearly chokes. “Well?” Haynan asks, a glint in his eye. “What do you think?”

 

Jack blinks against the sting of the alcohol burning down his throat. “Absolute rot gut,” he says. “More please.”

 

This is the first evening in three months that Jack hasn’t spent at the crater. He knows it doesn’t actually make a difference—him waiting in that specific location—and he knows his absence is for a good reason, but still. It’s become such a part of his identity. It helps him remember who he is.

 

He throws back another glass of whatever it is Haynan’s serving and feels his body already buzzing. It’s been a long time since he’s had anything stronger than water to drink, and this stuff is a _lot_ stronger than water.

 

Around him, people are laughing, playing music, dancing. He wonders what Sam would think of this scene. If she were here, he’d ask her to dance, and then make a big fool of himself trying follow the music while everyone else whistled and cheered. He thinks it would be worth it, to hold her in his arms. He smiles at the thought.

 

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” Laira observes. She’s sitting next to him and she’s drinking too, like everyone else in this newly fixed-up house.

 

“I guess I never thought Haynan would stop hating me,” he muses, and Laira laughs.

 

“Hey!” Haynan snaps, appearing behind them again and refilling their glasses. “I never said I didn’t hate you. I just said you could come for dinner.”

 

Even Jack grins at that.

Laira reaches over and grabs Jack’s hand, and he turns to her in surprise. He may be quickly on his way to drunk, but he’s still got enough wits about him to know that holding hands is not something they do.

 

“Dance with me,” she says.

 

The music is lively and she’s got a warm smile on her face, a genuine smile. For the first time, Jack wonders if there was a point in his life when this might have appealed to him: simple living, honest work, and a woman, this woman.

 

“Not much of a dancer,” Jack says. He motions to his leg with a grimace and adds, “bum knee.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him goodnaturedly—she’s heard that line from him before—but she doesn’t let go of his hand.

 

“You’ll like it,” she insists. “I’ll teach you.”

 

Jack gives her hand a squeeze and then pulls away and reaches for the glass that Haynan just refilled, throwing it back. “If I drink much more of this, you’re going to have to teach me how to walk.”

 

He is stumbling when they leave Haynan’s house a while later, and Laira seems a bit wobbly too. They get back to her place and he blinks against the candlelight, which seems offensively bright in his current condition. Laira closes the door behind him and Jack tries to get his bearings.

 

“Garren?” he asks after a moment. Usually Garren is here.

 

“Just us,” Laira says.

 

“Ah.” Jack looks around and locates his bedroll with some difficulty. It’s laid out where it always is, but the room is spinning, which makes everything harder to find. “Well, apparently I should expect a massive headache tomorrow, so I should get a head start.” He takes a step toward his spot on the floor and wonders if he’ll manage to make it all the way down without falling on his ass.

 

But then something stops him: warm hands on his arms, soft eyes searching for his, it’s Laira, she’s talking to him. “I wanted to be patient. I wanted to wait until you had let go of the life you left behind.”

 

Jack blinks some more and rubs his eyes, which only makes the room spin faster, so he decides it might be best to close them entirely. He’s not sure what she’s saying, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows what she’s doing, especially now that her hands have moved from his arms to his waist.

 

“Laira —” he says, but that’s all he gets out.

 

“Jack,” she says, and then she moves again, her arms wrapping around him as her lips meet his.

 

That’s all it takes for his eyes to pop back open. “Whoa, hey,” he says, pushing her away and taking a few stumbling steps backwards.

 

Her jaw drops and she steps backwards too. Jack wonders if she’s as drunk as he is. “I apologize,” she breathes, her hand flying up to her mouth.

 

“No, no,” he says, “I just…”

 

They should talk about this, that much is certain. She may have mourned her husband for a hundred days, but Jack isn’t mourning yet—he hasn’t, he won’t—not for a hundred days, not for one single day. He needs Laira to know that for her intents and purposes, he’s a dead end. And he has no idea how to say that without sounding like an ass, especially when he’s so drunk that it’s hard to stay vertical.

 

So instead, he locates his bedroll again and waves his arm at it. “I’m just going to go to bed,” he says. And even though they’re in her house, she nods and turns and leaves.

 

—

 

Jack wakes up the next morning with a headache the size of Colorado and an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can’t blame on Haynan, as much as he would like to. He sits up slowly, squinting against the sunlight streaming into the room. Laira’s bed is still empty, and so is the rest of the house.

 

Had he been leading her on? He doesn’t think so, but he’s been wrong about these sorts of things before. He wonders if maybe he should’ve tried to say something more last night. He doesn’t want to sleep with her, but he does want things to be ok between them.

 

Best case scenario, as far as Jack can tell, is that they both laugh it off as a drunken misunderstanding and move on with their lives, their separate lives.

 

Hell, now that Haynan’s place is fixed up, maybe it’s time for Jack to start thinking about renovating one of the other houses for himself. A little space might be good for everyone.

 

For now, Jack just needs to find her so they can sort this out, one way or another. He tries to stand up but then quickly sits back down. Standing is not a good idea yet. What he really needs is a glass of water. He wishes for the millionth time that someone on this planet would invent indoor plumbing already.

 

Then he remembers his canteen, which he’d refilled yesterday after working in the fields. It’s sitting across the room next to his pile of stuff, the few things he’d had on him when the fire rain hit.

 

The pile is small, consisting only of his clothes and weapons and boots and whatever was in his pockets that day. He doesn’t ever wear the clothes—a glaring reminder to everyone who might see him that he’s not from here, not that anyone would ever forget. In fact, aside from his canteen, he hardly so much as touches his pile. It’s too important, almost sacred. It’s all that’s left of his life on Earth.

 

He crawls his way across the room, grabs his canteen, and drinks the water slowly. Through the open window, he can hear the sounds of the village waking up. It’s back to work today, hungover or not. As he recalls, they’ve got firewood to chop. He groans at the thought of trying to swing an axe. Over and over again. All day long.

 

He stands to change his clothes and another ray of sunshine assaults him. Jack squeezes his eyes shut and turns away as quickly as he can manage. Really, the hard labor will probably be helpful for his overall condition if he can survive the sunlight.

 

Then he remembers: his sunglasses. Of course.

 

He reaches again for his little pile, moving his cap, his carefully folded jacket, TAC vest, and green BDU shirt and pants, and there, sitting neatly on top of his boots, are his sunglasses.

 

Jack turns the sunglasses over in his hands. He’s always loved this pair: mirror lenses with double gradient filters, black leather blinkers and perfectly hooked stems. He thinks about the man who used to wear these sunglasses, the soldier who used to run across alien planets and shoot bad guys and save the world. He thinks about his teammates, and most of all, he thinks about his second in command, tough and strong and brave and brilliant, fighting by his side.

 

He didn’t like missing his time at the crater last night. He really didn’t like what happened with Laira. He doesn’t want to be that man. He wants to be the man he used to be, except with less of the running-from-aliens stuff and more of the Sam stuff. Lots more of the Sam stuff.

 

He puts on the sunglasses and feels a little bit more like himself.

 

Then he looks back down at his pile and there, sitting on the ground between his boots and his flashlight, is his radio. He picks it up and runs his fingers over it. He can still hear Sam calling to him that day. It was the last time he heard her voice.

 

On a whim, he powers it up, and amazingly, it chirps on, like it has a hundred times before. He stands and clips it onto the waistband of his linen work pants. Now he _really_ feels like himself again.

 

He knows it makes no sense at all, but right now, just for today, he needs this. So he strides out of the house, sunglasses and radio firmly in place, Jack O’Neill, ready to chop the hell out of some Edoran firewood.

 

—

 

It’s not two hours later that he hears it: voices, coming over his radio. It’s Hammond first, and then it’s Teal’c, and then it’s her, oh god, it’s her, and Jack thinks he must be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, but he doesn’t even care, because he’s dropping his axe and he’s running away from the woodpile, through the village, past confused villagers, across the fields, to the crater.

 

He pushes the button on his radio and shouts, “This is Colonel Jack O’Neill! Come in!”

 

—

 

Jack is able to pick up Teal’c’s RDF signal, but breaking through the rocky ground requires longer than 38 minutes. So the SGC signs off, the wormhole disengages, and Jack gets to work, digging.

 

What’s different now is that the rest of Edora is digging with him, and he knows— _he finally knows_ —that he’s right on top of the Stargate.

 

Teal’c is a sight for sore eyes when, three hours later, they’ve finally dug the hole deep and wide enough for him to crawl out. Jack is all too aware that if he hadn’t happened to have his radio on, Teal’c might very well not have made it. He can’t believe Teal’c was willing to risk his life to get Jack home. He’d known his team would do whatever it takes, but he hadn’t considered anything this extreme.

 

Teal’c bows his head and Jack slaps him on the back and pulls him into a hug. If Teal’c had been expecting anything less, he was sorely mistaken.

 

Even with Teal’c safely through, they can’t dial back, since Edora’s DHD is still MIA. And so they wait. The three months Jack has spent sitting in this crater seem like nothing now as he sits through the longest hour of his life.

 

Finally, _finally_ he hears the sound of the chevrons spinning and locking into place. He stands up, his eyes go wide, his pulse starts to race, and he could be forgiven, he thinks, for getting a little teary.

 

It’s Daniel who comes through first, climbing up the rope and out of the hole. There’s nothing graceful about emerging from a horizontal Stargate, but by the time he makes it to the top, he seems to have his bearings. Daniel gives Jack a smile and Jack hugs him too, ruffling his hair and laughing. It’s usually Daniel who’s dying and resurrecting, but this time, Jack feels like he’s the one being brought back to life.

 

He pulls back from Daniel and there she is.

 

She did the impossible, she found a way to bring him home, just like he knew she would.

 

Jack is momentarily frozen by the half smile and small shrug she gives him—new memories to add to the old ones he’s been replaying every day for three months—but then he springs into action.

 

He will not make this mistake again.

 

He takes two steps forward and wraps his arms around her, burying his face in her hair and holding on tight. This, this is what he has been waiting for. He doesn’t even care that they’re not back on Earth yet, this is exactly where he wants to be.

 

Jack feels her sigh into his chest as he rocks a little from side to side. “Took you long enough,” he whispers into her ear, and he feels her huff out a laugh, or maybe it was a groan at his admittedly very untimely joke. He pulls back but stays close, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. It’s a small gesture, but intimate. He lets his hand linger on her shoulder as it drops.

 

He is peripherally aware of more and more personnel emerging from the gate, other SG teams carrying digging equipment and explosives, the kind of stuff Jack could’ve used months ago. They’ll get to work excavating the gate and setting it back up so the Edorans who were stranded on Earth can return home too.

 

The presence of other SGC personnel is the only thing keeping Jack from kissing her right now. He settles instead for gazing deeply into her stunning blue eyes and hoping she knows what he’s feeling. The way she’s looking back at him, he thinks maybe she does.

 

Then out of the corner of his eye, he sees Laira. She’s standing off to the side of the crowd, hands clasped awkwardly in front of her, looking more uncomfortable than Jack has ever known her to be.

 

He hasn’t seen her since last night. He’ll probably never see her again. But he wants to make things right.

 

“Just a sec,” he says to Sam. Then he turns and walks quickly over to where Laira is standing. This will really only take a minute.

 

“You must be very happy to be going home,” Laira says, biting her lip and looking like she’s barely holding it together.

 

“Laira,” he starts, “look, I just wanted to say —”

 

“Please,” she cuts in. “Please don’t.” She’s blinking rapidly and clutching her hands together.

 

“Laira.” He puts one hand on top of hers and she takes a deep breath. “I just wanted to say thank you.” She lets the breath out and closes her eyes. “I’m pretty sure everyone else on this planet would’ve left me out in the crater to die.” It’s a joke, mostly. She opens her eyes again and laughs a little.

 

“But you were right,” she says, even as her posture relaxes a little bit. “All along. You never stopped believing. I apologize that I —”

 

“Hey,” Jack says, holding up a finger. “Don’t be sorry. All your people are about to come home, and you’re going to be way too busy to waste time being sorry about anything.”

 

She laughs again, politely, then she lays a hand on his chest. “I hope you remember us well, Jack O’Neill.”

 

“I will,” he promises, and he means it. “This hasn’t been the worst three months of my life.”

 

Laira swallows hard, her hand still on his chest. “It’s been a hundred days.”

 

Ah. Well, that explains a lot about last night. Jack looks carefully at Laira and wonders if maybe his own loss stirred up things for her, deeper losses she thought she’d moved past.

 

So he hugs her, his arms wrapping around her with her hand still between them. She leans into him and he pats her back.

 

Then he walks away, back to Daniel and Sam, though Sam is no longer there.

 

“What happened to Carter?” Jack asks.

 

“She left,” Daniel says.

 

“Left?”

 

“She’s setting up the dialing computer. Hammond wants SG-1 back right away.”

  


“Ah,” Jack says. He doesn’t understand the rush, but he also doesn’t really care. He only cares about locating Sam. He looks around, hoping to spot a blond head of hair. Sam Carter on the same planet as him but out of his line of sight, this was not the plan.

 

“So,” Daniel says, as Jack cranes his neck. She must be close by, the gate is right here. “You and Laira?”

 

“What?” Jack says, spinning back around to face Daniel. “No!” Crap. “Is that what it looked like?”

 

Daniel gives a noncommittal shrug as Sam reappears out of nowhere with Teal’c at her side. She looks back and forth between Daniel and Jack for a moment and then says, “We’re all ready to go, sir.”

 

She turns and walks back to the gate, and Jack groans. This was not the plan at all.

 

But time is on their side now, he reminds himself. He’ll talk to her when they get back, as soon as they get back. Well, as soon as they can get a moment alone when they get back.

 

They tumble through the Stargate gracelessly, Teal’c on point, Jack next, and Sam and Daniel bringing up the rear. Once on the ramp in the gate room, Jack stands up and looks around, taking in the drab grey walls of the cold, concrete bunker. He feels more at home than he has in a long time.

 

General Hammond is standing at the base of the ramp to greet them. “Welcome home, Colonel O’Neill,” he says. “I’d like to see you in my office.”

 

—

 

“Have a seat.”

 

Jack sits down warily in the chair across from General Hammond. This feels fishy. Sure, he’s never been trapped off-world for three months before, so he doesn’t know _exactly_ what to expect, but an immediate—and solo—trip to the General’s office is not it.

 

It probably doesn’t help that Hammond looks so uneasy.  

 

“So we don’t do the ‘needles right away’ thing anymore?” Jack says. “I’m not complaining, mind you.”

 

Hammond takes a deep breath, which has Jack mentally bracing himself. “Colonel, it is imperative that I bring you up to speed immediately on some recent developments.”

 

“Developments?” Jack says. “As in… changes to our needles policy?” A guy can hope.

 

“Within the last two weeks, the Asgard and the Tollan have approached us independently of each other with evidence that we were stealing technology from them.”

 

“Oh,” Jack says, his mind starting to spin. Nothing like jumping right back into it. “We aren’t, right? Because that’s a policy change I’d be less excited about.”

 

“We are not,” Hammond affirms, “but someone is. And someone at the SGC is helping.”

 

Jack stiffens. This is starting to smell like an undercover operation.

 

“The Asgard, the Tollan and the Nox were going to sever all ties with us. But we convinced them the theft must be the action of a rogue group from outside the SGC.”

 

“Swell,” Jack says, shifting in his chair. “Job well done, General. Thanks for the update.”

 

“They’ve insisted that we apprehend the criminals ourselves, if we want any chance of regaining their trust.”

 

Yep. This is an undercover op, and if he’s not mistaken, Jack thinks he’s about to be handed the starring role.

 

“I need you to infiltrate this organization. Anticipating your return, we put together a plan that —”

 

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head firmly. “I’m not doing undercover. Not right now.” Not anymore, not ever. He’s been on the brink of retirement, at least in his own head, for a long time now. For a hundred days, to be precise.

 

Hammond just sighs and folds his hands together on the desk, like he’d anticipated this response exactly. “Your participation in this operation is not optional.”

 

“Like hell it isn’t,” Jack says, standing up abruptly and almost knocking over his chair. “Let me guess. You need me to pick some fights, alienate my team, start spouting the ideals of this theoretical rogue organization, and then sit around and wait for them to invite me to their off-world party?”

 

“That’s… essentially the plan, yes.”

 

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not doing it.”

 

“I know the timing isn’t good for you,” Hammond says diplomatically, “but for the purposes of this operation, the timing is ideal. It will make your act more believable, and whoever runs this organization will likely attempt to recruit you much sooner.”

 

Jack wants to ask Hammond if the Air Force found the timing to be similarly ideal when they needed someone for a suicide mission right after Charlie had shot himself. They’re so goddamn good at capitalizing on his despair. But he bites his tongue.

 

“You’ve been gone for months, cut off from everything you knew,” Hammond continues. “It would make sense if you came back a changed man.”

 

“I didn’t change,” Jack says. In fact, Jack can’t remember the last time he felt so sure of who he is and what he wants. “Find someone else.”

 

“There is no one else.” To Hammond’s credit, he does look genuinely regretful. “If you don’t do it, it doesn’t happen.”

 

“Then it doesn’t happen!” Jack nearly shouts back. He knows he’s way out of line right now, and he doesn’t care. One of the best days of his life is quickly turning into one of the worst; he feels like he’s coming unhinged.

 

Hammond looks at him for a moment and then says, “I don’t think you need me to paint you a picture of what it looks like for Earth if we lose the Asgard, the Tollan and the Nox as our allies.”

 

He’s right, of course. Jack can paint that picture himself, and it’s not pretty, not at all. Jack squeezes his eyes shut and collapses back into his chair. He wants to kick the part of himself that just can’t ignore that very compelling picture.

 

“I’m going to tell my team,” he says quietly.

 

“I can’t allow that.”

 

“At least let me tell Carter.” He feels like he’s begging, but he’s desperate. She’s the only other military member of his team, maybe Hammond will agree to it.

 

But Hammond is shaking his head. “You’d be putting her at risk, and you’d potentially be extending the operation or sabotaging it entirely. We need everyone to react genuinely to your defection. That includes Major Carter. In fact, the Asgard have insisted that you be the only one involved, and I agree.”

 

Jack rubs his hand over his face and shakes his head again. “Don’t ask me to do this, George.”

 

“I’m not asking, Jack,” Hammond says gently. “And this assignment comes from much higher up than me.”

 

Jack tries to imagine what it will be like to actively push his team away, actively push _her_ away. It’s unthinkable. It’s impossible. The Air Force might as well order Jack to reprogram the dialing computer or build a naquadah reactor.

 

“I do know what this means for you, son,” Hammond says carefully, his voice quiet, “particularly with regards to Major Carter. I wish there was another way.”

 

Well. Jack does his best not to react to that implication, or to think about what it might mean that Hammond seems to know how he feels about Sam.

 

“I can’t push them away,” he says in a low voice. “You’ll have to keep them from me.”

 

Hammond nods and leans back in his chair. “I think we can manage that, for the most part. In fact, when you go to the infirmary for your medical evaluation, I plan to call your team to my office and let them know that you’ll be confined to quarters and not allowed visitors for the next few days.”

 

Jack can practically see his dreams slipping away, all of his plans, his hopes for his return. “House arrest?”

 

“Functionally, yes. I’ll tell them you’re too valuable an asset to let your whereabouts go unaccounted for for such a long time. I’ll say you’re being required to submit for questioning.”

 

“No offense, sir, but that’s bullshit,” Jack says. “They’ll know something’s up.”

 

“Perhaps,” Hammond concedes. “But it will get the ball rolling. It will give you another reason to be upset with the Air Force, let the rumors start. And it will keep your teammates away from you, at least for a while.”

 

Jack sits silently for a few long moments, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

 

“Colonel, if there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed. I’ve got a guard waiting to accompany you to the infirmary.”

 

Jack stands, and Hammond does too. “For what it’s worth,” Hammond says, “it really is good to have you home, Jack.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Jack says. He doesn’t even have to fake the deep scowl on his face as he walks out of the General’s office to the infirmary.

 

—

 

Sam hears footsteps in the hall and knows immediately that it’s him. She’s longed to hear that sound, the specific cadence of footfalls that belongs only to him. She’s worked so hard to bring that sound back into her life.

 

It’s been several hours since they got back to the SGC, and Sam is about to head home for the night, or maybe for a couple of nights. General Hammond put SG-1 on stand-down, which she thinks is mostly for her benefit. And the Colonel has been confined to quarters, or at least, that’s what Hammond said. The approaching footsteps would suggest otherwise.

 

He slips into her lab and stands with his back against the wall, next to the door, directly under the security camera—the one spot in her lab the camera doesn’t reach.

 

“Hi,” she says tentatively. God, she doesn’t even know what to call him. In her head, for months, he’s been Jack, but now...

 

“Hi,” he says back.

 

She is so tired of not knowing where things stand between them. There was that hug on the planet, where—for a split second—everything felt right, and the way he’d looked into her eyes had chased off all the worry and stress and fear and uncertainty of the last three months.

 

But then he’d spotted Laira, and he’d run off after her. Sam had made herself scarce, not wanting to imagine the conversation it so obviously looked like they were having. And then as soon as they were back at the SGC, he was gone again, to Hammond’s office, to the infirmary, to his quarters.

 

She wants to be happy that he’s home, she had thought for sure that no matter what happened between them personally, she would at least feel happy and relieved and gratified to have accomplished her goal and brought him back. But _happy_ is not what she’s feeling right now. She feels blindsided by the Laira thing, and confused by what General Hammond has implied. And Jack… he feels as far away as ever.

 

There’s a small part of her can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s missing something, something really important.

 

But more than anything else, she just feels so tired. Maybe the last three months are finally catching up with her. Looking at him now, she notices that he looks tired too. He looks thin, actually. Tired and thin and really not happy either.

 

“I thought you were confined to your quarters,” she says finally, lacking anything better.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m going to have to get back to that, but…”

 

“But?”

 

He presses his lips together, and she can see him take a deep breath, like he’s fortifying himself for what he’s about to say. Sam takes a deep breath too. “Could you do me a favor?"

 

A favor? She slumps a little. He’s just here because he wants something. “Sure,” she says, “sir.”

 

He swallows again and says, in that deep, steady voice of his, “Don’t tell Amy I’m back yet."

 

Sam feels her mouth drop open. Amy? What? Why?

 

“Just for a while,” he adds.

 

Down the hall, a different set of footsteps announces the coming of a security guard. It’s routine, they monitor the halls regularly. Sam sees Jack press himself up against her wall, looking sideways towards the door. The guard passes without incident, and Jack relaxes again.

 

“I gotta go,” he says. With the guard now moving way from Sam’s lab, this is Jack’s window to sneak back downstairs to his quarters.

 

“Ok.” Sam nods once. Then he sighs, turns, and walks away, leaving her wondering what the hell just happened.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your patience waiting for part 2! I hadn't intended to have this much time between chapter updates, but this is how things go sometimes, apparently. Don't worry, Amy will be back in full force in the next chapter now that Edora is finally (finally!) behind us.


	30. Shades of Grey

A week after Colonel O’Neill comes home from Edora, SG-1 is back on the mission rotation. Sam can’t believe it. She hasn’t even seen him since he returned, save that one strange encounter in her lab. Hammond had kept the Colonel under quarantine for a few days, and when it was lifted, he’d slipped out of the mountain without so much as a word to anyone.    
  
She’d wanted to go to his house and talk to him, and she’d been gathering the courage to do just that when this mission came up. It’s the kind of mission Sam should be excited about—a trip to Tollana to establish formal diplomatic relations and see if the Tollan might be willing to share some of their tech. But as she steps through the gate with Daniel, Teal’c and the Colonel at her side, all she can think about is how they don’t really feel like a team, not anymore.   
  
Their meeting with the Tollan High Council is doomed from the start. SG-1 may have saved this planet from the Goa’uld, but that hasn’t made Chancellor Travell any more inclined to reconsider their policy against sharing technology. The Tollan flat refuse what SG-1 has come to ask for.    
  
Within less than a minute, the Colonel is pitching a very vocal fit about it. It’s the most Sam has heard him say in a week. He storms out of the courtroom, the rest of his team in tow, and Sam watches as he stops in front of a lighted panel in the hallway.    
  
“It's that thing they disable our weapons with, isn't it?” he says.   
  
She doesn’t answer, but eyes him carefully. He may have been gone for a long time, but this—all of this—it isn’t like him.   
  
“We never should have saved their technologically superior butts,” he mutters, ripping the panel off the wall and removing the device behind it.   
  
This definitely isn’t like him.    
  
_Know me better_ , she hears him say. It feels like a lifetime ago—Argos, Hathor, an awkward pizza dinner in the Colonel’s dining room—but it pops into her head now and it feels like a clue, or a key, maybe _the_ key for unlocking what the hell is really going on.   
  
“Sir, isn’t this against regulations?” It’s a stupid thing to say, because of course, stealing technology from Earth’s allies is so much more than against regulations. It’s against his own core beliefs.   
  
“I suppose it is, Carter,” he says, without looking at her. He pockets the device and takes off down the hallway, leaving a confused SG-1 to scramble after him.   
  
_Know that that’s not the kind of thing I do._ No matter what happened on Edora, no matter what else she might imagine happened between him and Laira, she knows him.    
  
Something is wrong.   
  
—   
  
Later, back at the SGC, the Colonel brushes past Sam like she’s not even there. He’s been relieved of command, and Teal’c is escorting him to Hammond’s office after a completely unsurprising visit from the Tollan to demand the return of their weapons-disabling technology.   
  
It’s absolutely the wrong place to try get through to him—they’re just outside of the control room and there are people everywhere, lots of noise and activity and prying eyes. But things are happening fast, and she doesn’t want to miss her chance, so she calls out to him as he walks away. “Sir!”   
  
She half expects him to just keep walking, but he stops in his tracks and turns around slowly. “What?” His expression is flat and mean, and… well, maybe she’s just projecting, but he looks miserable.   
  
“Is there anything I can do?” she says. It’s not a particularly profound thing to say, but it’s better than nothing, and it feels familiar enough. Something obviously needs fixing, and she’s good at fixing things.   
  
“About?” he snaps back, and the look he gives her makes her feel like she’s never fixed anything, ever, in her entire life. But she takes a deep breath and tries again.   
  
“Well, sir, with respect, you aren't exactly acting like yourself.”   
  
He narrows his eyes at her and looks like a completely different person from the man who’d hugged her on Edora just a week ago. “No Carter,” he says. “I haven't been acting like myself since I met you. Now I'm acting like myself.”   
  
Sam swallows hard and bites her lip as he turns and walks away.   
  
—   
  
Ten minutes later, he’s retired. Sam has imagined this, actually—Jack retiring, no longer being her CO—though the circumstances she’d imagined were nothing like this at all.   
  
She watches as he storms out of the mountain, and this time, she doesn’t call out to him. Something is wrong but she can’t get through to him; it’s time to take this to the next level. So she squares her shoulders and sticks out her chin and walks into General Hammond’s office.   
  
“Sir, I think there’s something wrong with Colonel O’Neill.”   
  
Hammond huffs, he’s still scowling at the door the Colonel just walked through, his fists clenched on his desk. “Major, I think there are a lot of things wrong with Colonel O’Neill.”   
  
“No, sir, what I means is,” she takes a breath and does her best to stay calm, “I think something happened to him on Edora.”   
  
Hammond turns sharply to face her now, his eyes piercing. “Is that so?” he says. “And yet I seem to recall you and the rest of SG-1 arguing rather insistently against the quarantine?”   
  
Sam flusters; it’s unlike the General to be so brusque. She still thinks the quarantine was a terrible idea, unnecessary and cruel, and it obviously didn’t work anyway, given what happened today. So Sam ignores this and moves forward with what she came here to say. “It’s just that this isn’t like him, not at all. I think it’s possible he might have contracted some type of—”   
  
“Do I need to read you his service record?” Hammond interrupts. “Because I happen to have it handy. Five counts of direct insubordination to superior officers and a United States Senator. Two counts of refusal to obey orders. Kidnapping an alien child. Shall I go on?”    
  
Sam is momentarily taken aback by the uncharacteristic sarcasm in his voice.   
  
“Respectfully, sir, I’d like your permission to take a team back to Edora to collect samples,” she presses. There might be something their initial readings hadn’t detected, some kind of organism or mineral in the soil that only becomes evident after prolonged exposure. Or it might even be something new, carried in on the meteors. She could do a comparative analysis between Edorans who’d stayed on the planet and Edorans who’d been on Earth, assuming those who’d returned hadn’t also become infected in the last week. “I think that if—”   
  
“Request denied,” Hammond says firmly.    
  
“Sir, with respect, I _know_ him —” she tries once more, but he cuts her off again.   
  
“I know you know him, Major,” he says. He’s leaning forward over his desk now and his eyes are narrowed at her. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t know _exactly_ how well you know him.”    
  
Sam stares back at him, dumbstruck.   
  
“So unless you’d like me to investigate any further into the nature of your knowledge of Colonel O’Neill, I suggest you drop this line of inquiry immediately.” He pauses, and Sam has to remind herself to breathe. “If there’s nothing else, Major, you’re dismissed.”   
  
Sam wills herself to nod at the General, then turns and takes careful, measured steps out of his office. Once she hits the hallway, she nearly runs the rest of the way back to her lab, letting the door slam loudly closed behind her. She’s out of breath, her heart pounding and her face hot with embarrassment, shame and guilt. She doesn’t know how she’ll face the General again. She really, really doesn’t know what to think of Jack. She can’t believe that this is how it will end.   
  
Her world is upside-down, but her hands are tied, and she can’t see a way forward, not this time.   
  
—   
  
The operation is proceeding according to plan. Jack is retired now, and he spends his time sitting at home, drinking beer and trying not to think about the look in Sam’s eyes when he told her she didn’t really know him.   
  
These last couple weeks have been hell. And Jack would know; he’s been there.   
  
But the end is in sight. Today, Jack is at the SGC to implement the final phase of the operation. He and Hammond had planned a few staged encounters, always with a strategic audience, and this time, he’s supposed to ask Hammond to let him retire off-world, on Edora, of all places. Today’s scheduled audience is the new commander of SG-1, Colonel Makepeace, whom Jack has always thought of as a complete asshat. So much the better.   
  
Jack’s escort leads him through the briefing room towards Hammond’s office. He knows his lines, but it’s not going to be easy to say them, even only in front of Makepeace. The last thing he wants is to go back to Edora. But he’ll do anything to get this over with.   
  
He walks into the office, and there’s Hammond, there’s Makepeace, as planned, but sitting next to Makepeace is the one person in the world Jack really does not want to see right now. Sam startles when he enters, obviously surprised, and Jack clenches his jaw, trying to figure out how he can get out of this.   
  
Hammond’s eyes dart from Jack to Sam and then back over to Jack. He straightens and delivers his line: “Jack, come in. You know Colonel Makepeace.”   
  
Jack frowns. “You look busy,” he says to Hammond. “I’ll come back.” It’s definitely not his line.   
  
“How’s the retirement going?” Hammond presses, and Jack sighs. There’s a timeline to keep now. They can’t afford missteps.   
  
“It’s going… it’s fine.” Jack says. “It’s boring.”   
  
“Would you like us to leave, Jack?” Makepeace offers. Jack really, really wants them to leave. But having an audience is the whole point of this conversation.   
  
“We’re not finished, Makepeace,” Hammond says, and then he turns to Jack and gives him a look that seems to say, _pull it together_. “Jack, it’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but perhaps you could make this fast.”   
  
“Ok,” Jack says. He’s trying very hard not to look at Sam, who seems to be trying equally hard not to look at him, but it’s a small office. “I want to retire offworld.”   
  
The room goes quiet. “Jack,” Hammond starts to say, “I don't know if…”   
  
“On Edora,” Jack spits out. The word tastes bitter in his mouth; he can’t stand it. He’s supposed to say more here, more about retirement being terrible and Edora being great, but he can’t, not in front of her. He thinks saying nothing at all will probably be more convincing.    
  
It’s quiet for a long, painful moment, until Hammond finally prompts him, “But why?”   
  
Jack tenses. Of course he needs to give a reason. If he wants to get this op over with, he needs to go through the Stargate, so he needs to request to go off-world. And his reason needs to be compelling.    
  
“You remember that woman I told you about?” he says quietly, flexing his fingers and staring at a spot on the wall behind Hammond’s head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sam go white. “I promised her I'd come back some day.” He’s supposed to say more here too, but this had better be good enough. He doesn’t think he could physically make the words come out of his mouth if he tried.   
  
Twenty minutes later, he’s holding his packed bag and standing in front of the wormhole that will take him to the place he’d spent a hundred days dreaming about leaving. Behind him, his team—his former team—is saluting him, but he can’t bring himself to turn and look at them.   
  
—   
  
It was a risky plan—a long shot by anyone’s definition—but it works, it actually works. One day after Jack pretends to leave Planet Earth forever, he’s back and slapping a pair of handcuffs on Colonel Makepeace while Sam, Daniel and Teal’c look on, stunned. At least, Sam and Daniel look stunned. Teal’c just looks like Teal’c. Jack thinks Teal’c has probably been onto him this whole time.   
  
After the criminals have been escorted out of the gate room, and the Tollans have been escorted to the briefing room, Jack finally turns to face his team.   
  
“I’m back.” He gives a small shrug and a hopeful smile, though he knows it will take a lot more than that to make up for the ground he’s lost in the last few weeks.    
  
It’s Daniel who speaks first. “So… this whole time… ever since you got back from Edora…”   
  
“Yep.”   
  
“Everything on Tollana? That appeal we made?”   
  
“Yep.” Jack rocks back and forth on his heels a little bit and steals a glance over at Sam, who turns away as soon as he makes eye contact.   
  
“I did a lot of hard work on that, by the way,” Daniel adds.   
  
Jack would roll his eyes at Daniel’s relentless need to make everything about himself, except right now, he’s so relieved to be talking to Daniel at all. He wants to say more, to continue this stupid banter just to hear the sound of their voices. But his mind is drawing a blank, because the things he really wants to say are things he only needs to say to Sam. And he would prefer to say them without an audience.    
  
It falls awkwardly silent. Jack looks helplessly at Sam, who still won’t meet his gaze, and then at Daniel and Teal’c, who seem all too aware of the dynamic at play.   
  
Finally, Teal’c jumps in. “I was aware of your subterfuge from the beginning,” he says, the pride evident in his voice.   
  
“Yeah,” Jack says, unsurprised.   
  
“You were?” Daniel says at the same time.    
  
Sam says nothing.   
  
From around the corner, Dr. Fraiser appears with her clipboard. “Colonel O’Neill,” she says. “Nice to have you back. For real this time, I hope?”   
  
Jack glances involuntarily at Sam, and then back at Fraiser. “Yep,” he says. “For real this time.”   
  
“Glad to hear it.” She smiles crisply. “Now, if you’ll come with me, please.” She turns and starts walking back toward the elevator that will take them to the infirmary.   
  
“I will accompany you, O’Neill,” Teal’c says, still looking terribly pleased with himself.   
  
“Yeah,” Daniel says. “So will I. Teal’c, you really knew all along?”   
  
“Indeed,” Teal’c affirms as the two turn and follow Janet.   
  
Jack looks once more at Sam, only to see her turn in the other direction. “I’ve got this thing I gotta check on…” she mutters as she walks away.   
  
Jack nods and clenches his jaw. Then he turns and follows the others to the elevator.    
  
—   
  
Sam is apparently still checking on her thing when Janet finishes Jack’s unnecessarily extensive med eval. He’s been catching up with Daniel and Teal’c, a pursuit that has its own merit, but it’s not really his priority right now.    
  
Once outside of the infirmary, Jack takes in the empty hallway on level 21 and frowns, though he can’t really say he blames her for not being here. “So… Carter?” he says to Daniel and Teal’c, hoping they’ll understand the question he can’t quite bring himself to ask.   
  
Daniel gives him an apologetic smile. “I don’t know, Jack.”   
  
“Ok,” Jack nods. He doesn’t need the sympathy, but he’s thankful at least for a straight answer.   
  
“Shall we assist you in attempting to locate her?” Teal’c asks.   
  
“No, no no,” Jack waves them off. “I mean, thanks. But I was kinda hoping to catch her alone.”   
  
“As you should,” Teal’c agrees.   
  
Jack raises an eyebrow at Teal’c, though he’s secretly grateful for the encouragement. He’ll take whatever moral support he can get right now.   
  
“She might just be in her lab,” Daniel tries. “She really has been… busy.”   
  
“Ok.” Jack presses his lips together and wishes it could possibly be that simple. “Has she been ok though? I mean, since…” Since Edora. Since this undercover op. Since everything.   
  
Daniel shrugs and looks down at the floor. “You know Sam,” he says after a moment. “She can get through anything.”   
  
Jack nods and frowns again. There’s no doubt Daniel is right, but he hates, hates being something she’s had to get through.   
  
He takes a deep breath and sets off to find her.   
  
—   
  
  
Alone in her lab, Sam closes her eyes and tries to calm her breathing. It was an undercover op. This whole time. He was undercover.   
  
She presses her hands onto the smooth, cool surface of her workbench as the pieces fall into place. That meeting with Hammond the second they got back from Edora. The quarantine, the distance. The way he behaved on Tollana, the things he said to her in the hallway that day. The blank look on his face, the sadness in his eyes. This is why he didn’t want her to tell Amy he was home.    
  
Sam had been so fixated on Edora as the source of the problem. It’s understandable, given that she’d spent the several months prior fixated on Edora too. And it wouldn’t have been the first time in SG-1’s experience that a foreign substance on some other planet had fundamentally altered someone’s personality.   
  
But she had been wrong, it wasn’t Edora. It all was just an act, this whole time—and an act he had hated.    
  
She thinks again about that moment on the planet, before they came back to Earth and Hammond put this operation into motion. She remembers the look on his face when he’d hugged her, tucked her hair behind her ear, brushed his hand over her shoulder. The look on his face then had been a look of joy.   
  
Sam straightens up and runs her hands over her face. He was _happy_ that they had come for him. He wanted to get home as badly as she wanted to get him home. Maybe he wants other things badly too. These last few weeks have been hell for her, and they’ve been worse for him. But maybe it’s all over now. Maybe it’s time.   
  
She spins on her heel and strides out of her lab. She knows right where she needs to be.   
  
—   
  
Jack looks for Sam in her lab. He looks in the commissary. He looks in the control room, her quarters, the gym, the infirmary, and her lab again. He even checks the bathroom down the hall. This is either an incredible coincidence or she’s avoiding him. Jack sighs and decides that maybe it would be best to give her the space she seems to want right now.   
  
He trudges to the elevator and rides to the top alone. Ever since Hammond told him about the undercover op, he’d stopped making plans of any kind for what might happen after it wrapped up. But he had at least hoped to talk to her.   
  
He signs out at the desk and walks outside into the bright Colorado sunlight. It’s almost June now, and the sun is still high in the sky, even though it’s nearly evening. He thinks about sledding with Amy back in January, and he can’t decide if it feels like it was only yesterday or a lifetime ago.   
  
His truck is parked way in the back of the lot, and he’s halfway there before he see her. She’s leaning against the cab, her knee bent and her foot resting on the running board. She looks like a dream.   
  
Jack quickens his pace, and by the time he reaches her, he’s a little breathless, though it’s not exactly from the walk.   
  
“I was looking for you,” he says.   
  
“I didn’t want to talk in there.” She nods toward the mountain and Jack nods too. Talk, she wants to talk. Talking is good.   
  
“I didn’t know you were up here.” He really hopes it doesn’t sound accusatory. But he would’ve come straight to the parking lot if he’d had any idea.   
  
“I know,” she says. “I needed a minute.”   
  
He nods again. He’ll give her all the minutes she needs, if at the end of it, she’s going to lean against his truck and talk to him. They’re standing close enough that he could touch her, and he really, really wants to touch her, but he holds back, waiting for a sign from her that touching might be ok.   
  
“There’s nothing going on with Laira,” he blurts out.   
  
Sam actually cracks a small smile at this. “I know.”   
  
“You do?”    
  
Her smile softens a little bit, and she shifts her weight and reaches out, laying a hand on his cheek. “Ever since you got back, you’ve been so miserable.”   
  
Jack decides her touch is the sign he was waiting for. He leans toward her a little bit and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m always miserable,” he says quietly.   
  
“No you’re not.” Her smile is brighter now, it’s the smile he’s been fantasizing about for months. “You’re grouchy. Sometimes. But you’re happy.”   
  
And isn’t that exactly it? After Charlie died, Jack never thought he would be happy again, never thought he deserved it, never even planned to try. But then Sam came along, and Amy, and it just sort of snuck up on him. He had been so happy with them.   
  
“I know you, Jack,” she says. It takes his breath away, the sound of his name and the confidence in her voice.    
  
Emboldened, he moves a little closer still and takes her free hand in his. “Sam,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice steady, “I want things to change too.”   
  
He realizes, once it’s out, that she might have no idea what he’s talking about. It’s been his mantra, his goal, the line he’s replayed over and over in his head, but it also happened four months ago.   
  
He’s trying to figure out how to back up and explain himself when she leans forward, closes the small gap between them, and presses her lips against his.   
  
It takes him less than half a second to start kissing her back.   
  
Her arms wrap around his neck as her mouth opens to him, and his own hands glide down her sides and and wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible. It’s immediately apparent that months of daydreaming did nothing to prepare him for the reality of kissing her. His heart is pounding—he’s sure she can feel it—his whole world is spinning, and his body feels like it’s on fire.   
  
He kisses her with more gusto than is probably appropriate for a parking lot—especially one with a security camera somewhere—though she doesn’t seem to mind, if the way she’s kissing him back is any indication.   
  
He’s just starting to contemplate pushing her up against the truck when she pulls back, enough to breathe, and leans her forehead against his. Jack loosens his arms a little bit and tries to catch his breath too.   
  
“Do you want to come over?” she says, and Jack freezes. “Tomorrow morning? Maybe around ten?” She pulls back a little more and smiles at him, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks flushed, and Jack can’t even bring himself to feel disappointed that she didn’t mean tonight.   
  
Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday. Amy.   
  
“I can do tomorrow,” he says, smoothing a hand over her hair. God, she has such soft hair.   
  
Sam lifts her chin up a bit. “So I can tell Amy you’re back?”   
  
Jack swallows and nods. “I think you’d better.”   
  
—   
  
It’s exactly 10:00 in the morning when Jack pulls into the Carters’ driveway. He’s been ready since the sun rose, and would’ve been here hours ago, but Sam’s plan was to tell Amy he was back right before his arrival, and he doesn’t want to mess up the plan. He understands that with kids, emotions can run high, even if they’re positive emotions.    
  
He closes the door to his truck and sees movement inside the house. Maybe she’d been waiting for that sound. His heart skips a little at the thought.   
  
Then the front door swings open, and there she is, Amy Carter, with Sam standing right behind her, smiling encouragingly.   
  
Amy stares at him, her blue eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.   
  
She looks so old. She’s a couple inches taller, but it’s not just the height. Her little chubby belly has almost disappeared and her face is longer, leaner. Her hair is still a curly mess but it looks a shade or two darker, and it’s down to her shoulders now. A persistent curl at the top of her head is dangling right in front of her eyes. Her hair was not that long when he left.   
  
He’d forgotten what it’s like to leave a child behind for months at a time. He’d known, cognitively, that Amy would get older during his absence, but actually seeing it is another thing entirely. Jack realizes, all of a sudden, that while four months was a long time for him, for Amy, it probably felt like an eternity. He wonders what she thinks of him now, after all the time that has passed.   
  
She’s still staring at him from the doorway, and Jack is no longer sure how to approach her. He tries a small smile and a half step forward, but apparently that was the wrong thing to do, because she spins around and runs back into the house.   
  
Jack turns his gaze to Sam, who shrugs. Then she waves him in and follows Amy up the stairs, where she’d fled. Jack runs after them both, taking the steps two at a time.   
  
They find her in her room, clutching a pile of brightly-colored papers.   
  
“I made you pictures!” she says, an edge of panic in her voice. “I was going to give them to you _first thing_.”   
  
“Ah,” Sam says quietly, and Jack takes some comfort in the fact that this now at least makes sense to her.   
  
“They’re in my room,” Amy continues. “The pictures. See?” She looks distressed, like she might have missed her moment by not having them in hand when Jack arrived. “I had to come get them right away. They’re for you.”   
  
She steps forward tentatively and holds out the papers to Jack, who crouches down and takes them from her outstretched hand. On the top is a yellow sheet of paper with his name, written very neatly in marker, surrounded by stickers of zoo animals. Amy’s name is written at the bottom, also very neatly, along with the date, three days ago.   
  
“You just made this,” he says.   
  
“Yep.” She takes another small step closer to him and brushes the big curl out of her eyes. “On Wednesday.”   
  
“I love it,” he says sincerely.   
  
She takes one more step, and now she’s standing right next to him. She pulls the yellow sheet off the top of the pile and throws it on the floor. Below it is a thick, white sheet of paper covered completely in paint. At the bottom is her name and the date; this one is from seven days ago.   
  
“I made this one on Saturday,” she says. “Last week.” She sounds older when she talks too, more accurate and more confident. “It’s my favorite colors. I think it’s your favorite colors too.” It is, in fact, all the colors, but Jack is not interested in pointing out anything like that right now.   
  
Amy lays her hand on his shoulder and leans into him as he flips to the next picture, from the Wednesday before, and the next, which is from the Saturday before that. In fact, it looks like there’s something from every Wednesday and every Saturday, going back for months. He looks up at Sam, who’s biting her lip, and then back down at Amy.   
  
“You did all this for me?” he asks, his voice breaking a little.   
  
“Yep,” she replies, nodding solemnly. “We missed you every day, but we missed you the most of all on the days you were supposed to be with us.”   
  
Jack turns a little so he’s facing Amy directly. He has a sudden image of her, crouched over her papers with her markers and stickers and paints, quietly growing up for four whole months, but never forgetting him, never giving up.   
  
“Thank you, Amy,” he says.   
  
She smiles then, finally, a big toothy Amy Carter smile, and throws herself into his arms. “I’m so happy you’re home,” she says.   
  
Jack wraps his arms around her and squeezes his eyes shut against the tears. “Me too.”   
  



	31. Small Victories

The absolutely normal and uneventful day Jack spends with the Carters is exactly what he’s been dreaming of for the last four months, though it’s not without its reminders of all that he has missed. For lunch, they have mac and cheese, which feels cliché and familiar and perfect. For dessert, Sam slices up bananas and sprinkles a little bit of cinnamon on them. 

 

“I guess because Jack is home now, we have to have fruit for our special treat again,” Amy observes.

 

Jack’s head pops up and he looks at Sam, who’s ducking her chin to hide a smile. He gets momentarily derailed by how good it feels to see her do that again. Then he remembers: dessert. “Wait,” he says. “You had other stuff for your special treat while I was gone?”

 

“Uh huh,” Amy says, digging into her banana slices. “We had so much good stuff. Like cupcakes. And cookies. We had cookies all the time.” Across from him, Sam seems to be working hard not to laugh.

 

“Well hey,” Jack says, trying to sound as casual as one possibly can at the prospect of cookies all the time. “No need to go back to fruit on my account. I like cookies too.”

 

“I think we have to go back to fruit,” Sam says, pretending to look thoughtful.

 

“I think we do,” Amy agrees, the look on her face matching Sam’s exactly.

 

And Jack just smiles, because right now, these banana slices taste pretty amazing.

 

They clear the table after lunch, and Jack turns to Amy. “Nap time?” God, but he has missed nap time.

 

“I don’t do a nap anymore,” she says. “I’m almost four.”

 

Jack’s heart breaks just a little bit, though he does his best not to let it show. “That’s right,” he says. He should’ve expected this. He looks at the almost-four-year-old girl in front of him and tries to think about something other than never putting her down for a nap again. “You’ve got a birthday coming up.”

 

This makes Amy start talking excitedly about her birthday next month, as Jack had hoped it would. He looks up at Sam, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter and looking back at him like she understands his heartbreak. It helps.

 

—

 

In the space after lunch where a nap used to be, Amy is now in the habit of going outside to play, so that’s what they do. Sam mostly sits off to the side as Jack pushes Amy on the swing, lifts her across the monkey bars, chases her up the steps and down the slide. After a while, he plops down on the grass next to Sam, while Amy shows them how her cousin taught her to pump on the swing.

 

“She got so big,” Jack says in a low voice, and Sam nods. It’s quiet for a long moment as Amy swings higher and higher, all by herself. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a whisper. “I can’t believe how much I missed.”

 

Slowly, Sam reaches across the grass and lays her hand on top of his.

 

—

 

Later, Sam is getting dinner ready while Jack colors with Amy at the kitchen counter. At Amy’s direction, Jack has drawn an outline of a dog on a piece of yellow construction paper, and Amy is now coloring it in with a blue crayon while Jack adds grass and trees and clouds.

 

“Our dog is so funny,” Amy says.

 

“Yep,” Jack says.

 

“Why?” Amy says, and Sam immediately tenses. It’s a conditioned response at this point, even if the _why_ is not directed at her.

 

“Why?” Jack shoots right back, not even looking up from the paper.

 

Sam’s jaw drops. It can’t be that easy, can it? 

 

“Because it’s yellow,” Amy says, looking thoughtfully at their picture. “And blue.” She resumes her coloring.

 

“Oh my god,” Sam says, mostly to herself.

 

Both Jack and Amy look up at her. “What?” Jack says.

 

“Why?” Amy says at the exact same time.

 

Sam groans and drops her head down onto the counter.

 

—

 

Jack gets to do bedtime, and he’s never been quite so happy to retell the story of Beauty and the Beast. For everything in Amy’s life that has changed, so many other things have stayed the same, for better or for worse, and this is one of them.

 

He feels the familiarity of their whole bedtime routine come back to him in a wave, like the call-and-response of an age-old liturgy, where the meaning isn’t lost in repetition because it’s from repetition that it derives meaning in the first place.

 

Good night, Jack. _Good night, Amy._

 

Sweet dreams. _Sweet dreams._

 

I love you. _I love you._

 

Jack stands in the doorway of Amy’s bedroom and switches off the light. Then he hears the rustling of her blankets as she sits back up. “Jack?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I don’t want you to go away,” she says. Jack closes his eyes and sighs. He doesn’t want to go away either, ever again.

 

“I can stay a little while longer, if you want,” he says.

 

“Ok. Will you snuggle me?”

 

So Jack walks across the darkened room, tucks Amy back into bed, and lays down on top of her butterfly comforter. She nestles into his side and closes her eyes. In the low light coming in from the hallway, Jack studies the lines and curves of her face, the fall and rise of her almost-four-year-old nose and cheeks and chin, the long curls of her hair soft and calm against the pillow. He stays there until long after she’s fallen asleep.

 

When he finally comes back downstairs, Sam is on the couch, with two beers on the coffee table in front of her. 

 

“Thanks,” he says, sitting down next to her. For the beer, for letting him do bedtime, for everything. Today was more than he had dared hope for.

 

Sam smiles softly. “She missed you.” 

 

“Not as much as I missed her,” he says. 

 

“That would be a tough competition.” 

 

He nods, and they fall quiet. Sam is fiddling with her beer bottle.

 

“Look, I want to say I’m sorry,” Jack starts. Talking about his feelings is really not his thing. But if he wants changes, this will have to be one of the first.

 

She straightens. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says, and he thinks she means the undercover op, but that’s not what he’s talking about.

 

“At my house that day,” Jack presses, and he can tell immediately that she knows what day he’s talking about. “You were right.” He was overstepping—with the bedtime stories, with Amy in general, with Sam. They should’ve talked about it, _he_ should’ve had the presence of mind to notice and bring it up.

 

But Sam is looking down at her hands, shaking her head.

 

“You were,” he insists. He nudges her shoulder a little to help get his point across.

 

She gives him a smile that’s tinged with regret. “Do you know where I told Amy you were, when you were gone?”

 

Jack shakes his head. He can’t imagine that was an easy conversation.

 

“I told her,” Sam says carefully, “that you used a magical door to visit a faraway planet, but meteors broke the door and you couldn’t get home until I fixed it.”

 

Jack’s eyes go wide. “You did?”

 

Sam gives him a shrug and a small smile. “I was trying to think like you.” Jack stares back at her, stunned, but then Sam’s smile drops and she’s back to looking tense. “I’m sorry I blew up at you that day,” she says.

 

“No, Sam,” Jack shakes his head again, because that’s not the point right now. He shifts so he’s facing her on the couch, his knee bumping gently into hers. “I don’t know if you understand how much time I’ve spent in the last four months thinking about that day, about exactly what I should’ve done differently.”

 

Sam huffs a laugh, looks down at her beer and blushes a little bit, which Jack takes as a good sign. Then she looks up and meets his gaze. “Like what?” Apparently she’s not the only one who’s making an effort to change the status quo. 

 

“Like what we did in the parking lot yesterday, for starters,” he says, and she laughs some more. Jack suspects that what they did in the parking lot yesterday was more of a one-time thing, at least until they get work stuff sorted out, but he would be open to other ideas.

 

He’s not sure how to follow that, so it falls quiet again, and Sam starts to fiddle some more with her beer bottle.

 

“I am sorry about the other stuff too,” he says. “The undercover stuff.”

 

“You really don’t —”

 

“ _I know_ I don’t have to apologize, I know it wasn’t my fault.” He frowns and wills himself to say the words. “But I hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

 

She bites her lip and looks down at her hands and Jack wonders if actually talking about their feelings will get any less awkward once they have more practice at it.

 

“Hammond knows,” she says.

 

Jack swallows and wonders what led her to that conclusion. “He was playing a part,” he says, “just like I was.”

 

“I know,” Sam replies. “Still.”

 

“Yeah.” Jack slumps back into the couch. He’d come to the same conclusion. But Jack’s got imminent plans to retire, _for real_ this time, and he’s counting on Hammond giving them a little bit of leeway with regards to what he already knows, or suspects.

 

“I’m going to request a transfer,” Sam says, and Jack sits up straight again.

 

“You’re what?”

 

Sam nods. “To the science department. Off SG-1.” She looks up from her beer and gives him a hesitant smile.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Jack says. He knows that Sam could have her pick of postings at the SGC, or the Pentagon, or Area 51. But all of his fantasies about changes have centered on him retiring, and not on her rearranging her career or priorities.

 

“I want out of your chain of command.” Her voice is heavy with meaning. Jack thinks this might be a good time to try touch her, so he does, he sneaks his hand over and rests it on her leg.

 

“I want that too,” he says, “Which is why I’m going to retire.” Sam immediately stiffens, and Jack groans internally. She probably has less-than-fond memories of his recent staged retirement. He does too. “Not like before,” he adds. “For real.”

 

She puts her hand on top of his and Jack thinks this is real progress.

 

“It’s not just you,” she says quietly. “It’s Amy too. This whole Edora thing, it made me wonder if maybe it’s time for me to stop going through the gate.”

 

Jack’s heart pounds in his chest, but he does his best to react calmly. “Too much like Antarctica?” Even though they’ve talked about this before, the thought of her not going through the gate makes his world feel a little out of whack.

 

She nods back at him. “Exactly. Either one of us could’ve gotten trapped on that planet. Or both of us. What if Amy lost us both?” Jack nearly shudders at that thought. “And what was it even for?”

 

Jack squeezes her hand and scoots a little closer to her on the couch so their shoulders are touching. “Hey,” he says, “that’s not going to happen,” though of course there’s no way he can promise that, and they both know it. He hopes he sounds reassuring anyway.

 

“Because I’m going to request a transfer,” she says.

 

“And I’m going to retire,” he says, and she rolls her eyes at him and smiles a little. “What?” he says. Getting a smile out of her at this point in the conversation makes him feel like he’s on a roll. “Daniel and Teal’c can deal with the Goa’uld. They’ll be fine.” Her smile falls, and Jack’s does too. When you say it like that, it’s not really funny anymore.

 

“At least Apophis is dead,” she muses, pulling her hand away from his to pick at the label on her beer bottle some more. Yep, any mention of Apophis is definitely a conversational step backward.

 

“Sam,” he says, willing her attention away from her beer, “ever since that day at my house, I have been fantasizing about dropping papers and walking out of that mountain for good. I care about what we’re doing out there. But I care about you more.” There, he said it. He takes her hand again and his grip is tight, anticipating what she might say in reply.

 

“Ok.”

 

Jack pulls back a little, surprised. “Ok?” Just like that? He really doesn’t want to strong-arm her into this. The amount of time he’s spent on a specific fantasy doesn’t make his concerns more valid than hers. “I mean, we can talk about it. I just want you to know where I’m coming from on this.”

 

“I know.” she says. She lifts her hands to his face, and she can’t possibly be doing this on purpose, but she licks her lips, ever so slightly. Maybe he was wrong about the parking lot kiss being a welcome-home-only thing. “I want you to be happy, Jack.”

 

Jack leans back into her, and she presses her forehead to his, their noses brushing. “I am so much more than happy right now,” he breathes. There’s barely an inch between their lips.

 

Just then, he hears a crackle of static, and a small voice announces, with great drama, “Mama! I can’t find my bunny _anywhere!_ ”

 

Jack startles a little but Sam chuckles softly as she pulls back from him. “Damn bunny,” she says.

 

“I can’t sleep without my bunny!” Amy adds, insistent as ever.

 

Jack does his best to regain his cool. “You still use a baby monitor?” Come to think of it, he’s not sure when Sara stopped using one with Charlie.

 

“I’m not the one who’s hooked,” Sam says, giving the monitor a pointed look. “If you’ll excuse me.” With that, she takes off towards the stairs.

 

But apparently she’s not moving fast enough, because Amy comes back with an urgent, “ _Mama! I need you!_ ”

 

So Jack picks up the monitor and presses the speaker button on the side. “Don’t worry, Amy, she’s on her way.”

 

“Jack!” Amy chirps, her voice now cheerfully curious. “Why are you still at my house?” Jack smiles at the monitor and hears the door to Amy’s bedroom open. “Hi, Mama,” he hears Amy say to Sam. “Jack is still here!” 

 

“I know,” Sam replies softly. “Did you look on the floor?”

 

“No,” Amy says. “I didn’t look anywhere. Why is Jack still here?”

 

“Because he’s my friend too,” Sam says. He hears a rustling of blankets and then, “Here you go. On the floor.”

 

“Thanks,” Amy says. Jack can just imagine her snuggling back down into her bed, her head on her pillow and her bunny tucked tightly under her arm. “Is he going to do a sleepover?”

 

“Not tonight,” Sam says, and Jack’s heart skips a little at what this implies about the potential for other nights. “Next time, check the floor for your bunny, ok sweetie?”

 

“Ok,” Amy says, and Jack grins. He’d bet they’ve had this conversation before, probably several times.

 

“Goodnight,” Sam says. “I love you.”

 

“I love you,” Amy replies, and then she adds, in a louder voice, “I love you, Jack!” Jack chuckles, and over the monitor, he hears Sam do the same.

 

“Love you, Amy,” he says into the monitor.

 

It’s hard to leave that night. Things are easier between them because they each finally know how the other feels, and things are harder for the exact same reason. Jack is committed to letting her set the pace and adamant about not messing this up again. He is painfully aware of the regulations that have landed them in this situation in the first place, and he’s devoted, as always, to not ruining her career. He knows that it puts the whole team in danger any time one person decides that some of the rules don’t apply to them, even if the rules are stupid.

 

But he really, really wants to press her into the couch and kiss every visible inch of her skin, and the not visible ones too. Especially the not visible ones.

 

Instead, they make plans to meet at his house in the morning, and they say their goodbyes. Standing in the doorway, he grabs her hand and gives it a squeeze. She squeezes back and swallows hard. This isn’t going to be easy.

 

—

 

They talk some more the next day, small fragments of conversation stitched together as Amy rediscovers Jack’s house, his books, his toys. Sam isn’t prepared for the relief she feels at just being here. It’s almost tangible, she can practically feel it.

 

Reassignment is an option that’s been on the table for her from the beginning, and it definitely has its perks. It would be easier—and probably a whole lot faster—than Jack retiring, and it would remove Sam from Jack’s chain of command without removing one of them from the Stargate Program entirely. But there’s still the issue of their ranks. If Sam got reassigned back to an off-world team, or if Hammond left the SGC, or if new political leadership got different ideas about how things ought to be run, they could be right back where they are now. 

 

Plus, there’s something about retirement that just feels more _permanent_ , and Sam likes the idea of permanent when it comes to Jack. She likes it a lot. She knows Jack could be recalled, like he was before; that will always be a risk for both of them. But recalling someone from retirement is a much bigger deal than reshuffling someone’s assignment within a base.

 

So, retirement it is. Sam still has reservations about her own role on SG-1 and the risks she takes on a regular basis in the line of duty. She’s always had these reservations, she suspects she always will. But as she watches Jack and Amy construct a fort in his living room Sunday afternoon, she allows herself to imagine a future where maybe she isn’t a single parent. It wouldn’t make things any easier, but it would maybe make them ok.

 

—

 

They have the guys over that evening. It’s the first time SG-1 has done a team night since before Christmas.

 

Dinner is steak. Jack is at the grill, talking with Daniel. Teal’c and Amy are throwing a toy airplane back and forth in the yard. Sam is leaning against the railing, a glass of wine in hand, taking it all in.

 

It doesn’t escape her notice that Jack keeps stealing glances at her. If she were so bold, she might identify the look in his eyes as hunger, and not exactly for the steaks in front of him. She’s spent the better part of the last year trying to make sure he never catches her looking at him like that. Maybe he’s been doing the same. In any case, he’s definitely not trying to hide it anymore.

 

Sam swallows, looks back out at the yard, and thinks again about that kiss in the parking lot. She’s been thinking about that kiss a lot over the last couple days, and the last couple nights. 

 

It’s not that she thinks the world would end if they sleep together before the Air Force sanctions it. She’s pretty sure they wouldn’t even get caught. But she doesn’t want to sneak around with him, she’s never wanted to feel guilty or ashamed. She wants to do this right, as much as she reasonably can. There’s no sense in taking an unnecessary risk when the end is in sight.

 

And the end _is_ in sight. It’s only a matter of time now. She turns back toward Jack and he’s giving her that look again. She can feel her body responding to him already. That kiss in the parking lot was really good. 

 

Off to the side, Daniel quietly clears his throat.

 

Dessert is blue jello, which Sam thinks is a nice gesture, because jello is the kind of thing that requires some advanced planning and because Jack doesn’t really like it.

 

“Is blue your favorite flavor jello too?” Jack asks Amy as she shovels in another bite.

 

“Yep,” she says, mouth full of blue.

 

“Really?” he prods. “You like it better than all of the other colors?”

 

Amy freezes, her spoon dangling above her bowl. “There are other colors?” 

 

—

 

As it turns out, instantaneous retirement is a myth that’s only possible in artificial scenarios where the retirement in question is only pretend.

 

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Hammond says to him from across his desk on Monday morning. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

 

“Is there anything we can do to speed things up a bit?” Jack replies, spinning his fingers around. He’d been hoping for some kind of loophole for officers who’d saved the planet a certain number of times, but apparently there’s isn’t one. Apparently, there’s just a standard, 120-day waiting period.

 

Hammond, magnanimously, doesn’t ask Jack where the fire is. “We’ll do our best,” Hammond says. Lesser airmen can request a waiver of the waiting period, but Hammond seems to think that without severely extenuating circumstances, it’s unlikely this would be granted. Jack thinks his circumstances are pretty damn extenuating, but he doesn’t want to have to spell it out on official Air Force paperwork.

 

“Any way I could get temporarily reassigned somewhere else on the base? Just for the next 120 days?” He doesn’t expect Hammond to seriously consider this request, but he’s also not ready to consent to an obscenely long waiting period. “Maybe I could leave SG-1 and help unload FREDs for one of the research teams or something?”

 

Hammond seems to be working very hard not to roll his eyes. “Your position as leader of SG-1 is what makes you so invaluable within this command. I’m sorry, but I can’t reassign you.”

 

Jack scowls. There’s got to be a better solution to this. He drums his fingers on Hammond’s desk as he thinks, until Hammond sighs. Loudly.

 

“Colonel, you’ll request retirement like every other commissioned officer. And once you’re retired, you’ll be free to do as you please. But until that time comes, I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner consistent with the Air Force’s policies and expectations. Is that clear?” 

 

Jack straightens. “Yes, sir,” he says reluctantly.

 

Hammond holds his gaze meaningfully. “It won’t be forever, Jack.” 

 

Jack sighs and decides to try cut back on the moping.

 

—

 

He’s on his way to tell Sam the not-so-great news when an unscheduled off-world activation comes in; it’s Bra’tac. He comes bearing news that Apophis is laying waste to Chulak.

 

“Somebody's got to teach that guy how to die,” Jack says, throwing his arms up in exasperation. As it is, Apophis now controls Sokar’s army is and more powerful than ever. Great. Just great.

 

Then Jack sees Sam looking at him and he can practically read the question in her eyes. _Does this change things?_ It’s one thing to walk away in the middle of a war when you can at least say that the guy who started it is dead. Is it a different thing to walk away now?

 

He gives her shoulder a quick squeeze as they disperse to gear up. They’ve got 120 days, at least, to answer that question. But right now, they’ve got a harsesis to find.

 

—

 

At home—either of their homes—they are good. They are on their best behavior. On Wednesdays and Saturdays and now frequent days in between, there’s never more than a hand brushed here or there, a gentle press of lips on a cheek in greeting or farewell, a barely lingering touch on an arm or a waist as one reaches past the other to grab the dinner plates out of the cupboard.

 

And at work, they are better than good. They are perfect. They are unstoppable. 

 

Just before Thor beams Jack up to his ship, Jack is in Sam’s lab, trying to casually twist her arm into a spur-of-the-moment vacation. Daniel got appendicitis, and the rest of SG-1 has found themselves with unexpected downtime. Teal’c is visiting Ry’ac, wherever he is these days, and this seems like the perfect chance for a totally legitimate getaway.

 

“So,” he opens. It’s a strong start, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the device in front of her. “Whatcha up to this week?”

 

Sam motions toward the device. “I'm getting ready to do a detailed analysis of the decay rate of naquadah within the reactor.” She smiles at him like she’s actually looking forward to it.

 

“You know, I’ve heard you’re a genius, Carter, but you seem to be really struggling with the concept of _vacation_.”

 

She bites her lip and looks down at her hands, though he can see that she’s smiling.

 

“Personally, I had something else in mind,” he continues, hoping she’ll take the bait. She lifts her head and cocks an eyebrow at him, and Jack decides that’s good enough. “I was thinking cabin. All three of us.” He smiles in closing; he thinks he made a pretty strong case.

 

“ _Your_ cabin?” she says, as if there were any other.

 

“Nothing wrong with that is there?” he says calmly. “A couple of coworkers, friends if you will, fishing. It'd be fun.” It would be excruciating, that’s what it would be. He has lots of very specific fantasies involving her at the cabin that would somehow have to wait. But it would also be fun. “Amy would—”

 

“Yeah, Amy would love it,” she finishes for him, grinning. Then her smile softens. “We’ll get there.”

 

So Jack turns and walks out of her lab, leaving her to her naquadah reactor, and the next thing he knows, he’s on the Beliskner, and Thor is asking for his help.

 

They save the day—they even save themselves—and when the dust settles, they’re on P3X-234, with no way to return to Earth.

 

“Not that it exactly matters,” Jack says to Teal’c, “but why’d you pick this planet?” It’s lush and hot and sticky, and by the looks of it, completely devoid of human life.

 

“Of the uninhabited planets we have come across,” Teal’c replies, “this is the quickest to dial manually.”

 

“Wow,” Jack says, genuinely impressed. “You did the research on that?”

 

Teal’c nods. “I did.” Apparently the guy who’s usually stuck manually dialing the gate came prepared.

 

Jack turns to Sam. “How long ‘til they get the secondary gate up and running at the SGC?”

 

“Could be a week,” Sam says, looking somewhat panicked. “Maybe more.”

 

“Ok.” Jack claps his hands together, trying to project confidence, even though he understands her alarm. A week is a long time. The SGC doesn’t even know they’re alive, so what will they tell Sam’s family? What will Amy think, for a whole week, or longer? In the immediate aftermath of Edora, disappearing for a week or more is simply not an option. “Major, how do we talk to Earth when Earth has no Stargate?” 

 

“The Asgard aren’t available...” She frowns, but she’s working the problem, and that’s good. “The Tok’ra have ships but they’re usually tied up...”

 

Jack can practically see the light bulb switch on above his head. “The Tollan,” he says. “They had to be able to talk to Hammond during the whole… you know, the undercover op. Without a gate. They gave him this device… thing. He probably still has it, or someone does.”

 

Sam smiles at him, looking relieved and grateful. “Tollana it is,” she says, and Teal’c dials the gate, this time using a DHD.

 

The Tollan seem as happy as they ever do to let SG-1 use their toys, which is to say, not all that happy. But it works, and they get in touch with Hammond, who, for his part, sounds relieved. Even with Sam’s coaching, it takes three days to get the secondary Stargate online, but it’s three days of Amy knowing that Sam is ok, instead of god knows how many days of everyone, including Amy, not knowing a damn thing.

 

They return home to more crises still, with Replicators attacking a submarine and Thor’s planet on the brink of annihilation. They take care of it, like they always do, though Jack is starting to wonder if all of this planet-saving is working for or against his retirement plans.

 

—

 

About a week later, the Tok’ra come calling. It seems that between Apophis being back in business and the Replicators making their first appearance in the Milky Way, the Tok’ra are interested in finding out if the Tau’ri know anything they don’t.

 

Fortunately, they send Jacob.

 

He’s only in for the day, it’s a quick turn-around, and Jack and Sam don’t even get the chance to worry about navigating the potential awkwardness of their sort-of relationship in front of him. But somehow, Jack finds himself unexpectedly trapped in an elevator with Jacob, just Jacob. Jack’s not sure how this could’ve happened. He must’ve let his guard down. Damn.

 

“I hear you put in for retirement,” Jacob says, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.

 

“You heard right,” Jack replies. He can’t imagine this was part of the Tau’ri’s latest memo to the Tok’ra, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

 

“Good for you,” Jacob says, and Jack raises an eyebrow. 

 

“Good for me?”

 

Jacob shrugs. “Something had to give.”

 

Jack raises his other eyebrow at this, but doesn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t be completely incriminating.

 

They ride a while longer in the unfathomably slow elevator, they’re almost to their floor when Jacob says, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what I owe you for Christmas last year.”

 

“Not yet,” Jack says, though he’s grateful for the change in subject, and for the reminder—to both of them—that Jacob owes him. The elevator stops, and the doors open onto level 22.

 

But suddenly, Jack gets an idea. He grabs Jacob’s arm to keep him from stepping out of the elevator, and they both watch as the doors slide closed again.

 

“Actually, since you mention it, there is one thing.”

 

—

 

“Mama, why is this a traffic jam?”

 

It’s Friday after work, and they’re driving from Mark and Heather’s to Jack’s for dinner. They don’t usually do this drive at this time of day, but he’d offered to cook, and they’re making their way over. They’ll see him tomorrow too, of course. Two days in a row is something they do now. More often than not is something they do.

 

Sam cranes her neck and tries to see what the hold up is. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think there’s just a high volume of cars on the road.”

 

Amy sighs dramatically. She’s got a real flare for it these days. “But _why_ is there a high volume?”

 

Sam considers her responses. Insufficient city planning and infrastructure? Lack of efficient public transportation options? Maybe some other time. “It’s just rush hour, sweetie,” she says.

 

“Why are we _rushing_ for an _hour?_ ” Amy moans.

 

“That’s what people do on Friday after work,” Sam replies.

 

“Why do you call Jack ‘Jack’ now?”

 

Sam glances at Amy in the rear view mirror. She should’ve known this was coming. She should’ve known Amy would sneak it into an interrogation on the essential nature of traffic jams.

 

“Well…” she says, collecting her thoughts. She wants to be as honest with Amy as she can, without overcomplicating things. Changes for her and Jack mean changes for Amy too—good changes—but changes that will likely require discussion, like this one. “I have to call him by his title at work, either ‘Sir’ or ‘Colonel O’Neill.’”

 

Amy giggles. “That’s funny. Colonel O’Neill.” It is funny, when Amy says it. 

 

“I always thought it was easier to just call him that all the time, but now, I’ve decided to try calling him ‘Jack’ when we’re not at work.” Sam’s eyes dart between the traffic ahead of them and Amy behind her. 

 

“Is it because he was gone?”

 

“Yeah. Mostly. I think.” Sam doesn’t want to miss-handle this, however minor the questions seem to be. With Amy, you never really know what she’s leading up to.

 

“Are you sure there’s not a bottleneck?”

 

“What?”

 

“A bottleneck,” Amy repeats. “It’s when you used to have lots of different lanes but now you don’t. It makes traffic jams too.”

 

Sam lets out a breath and cranes her neck again to see if there aren’t any lanes closed up ahead.

 

When they finally get to Jack’s house, Amy runs inside and gives Jack a hug. Dinner is already on the table.

 

“Sorry it took us so long to get here,” Sam says, closing the door behind them. He looks so good in his jeans and long sleeved black shirt, he probably has no idea. 

 

“There was a high volume of cars on the road,” Amy says.

 

“There was a high volume of cars on the road,” Jack repeats to Amy, and then he looks up at Sam, his eyebrows raised. She shrugs innocently in response. He’s not the only one who can teach Amy funny things to say. “Well in that case, I’m glad you made it.”

 

“Me too, sir,” Amy replies, grinning as she hops down the steps.

 

—

 

Sam sits cross-legged on Jack’s couch, the paper sprawled out around her. It’s Sunday, June 25th, two days before Amy’s fourth birthday, and nearly a month since Jack’s undercover op wrapped. Jack had invited them over early for waffles, and now that breakfast is done, Sam is working intently on the crossword puzzle. He'd be annoyed that she got to it first if he didn’t so completely love the sight of her on his couch reading his Sunday morning paper. 

 

Jack hands her a fresh cup of coffee and takes a seat next to her, close enough that their elbows are touching. On the floor, Amy is building a house out of Lincoln Logs with the same intensity that Sam is giving the crossword.

 

He’s just picked up the sports section for himself when Sam says, quietly, “Do you want to do something tomorrow?”

 

“No,” he says automatically. He doesn’t want tomorrow to even exist.

 

“You sure?” she says, and he nods.

 

She turns back to her puzzle, but he can tell that she’s not really focused on it anymore. A minute later, she says, “Do you ever go visit—”

 

“No,” he says again. He hasn’t set foot in that cemetery, not since the day of the funeral nearly four years ago.

 

“Ok,” she says. “Do you think that’s something you’d want to do someday?”

 

Jack allows himself a moment to consider this. He’s never felt the need for a tearful, melodramatic graveside scene, but he doesn’t want it to be something he _can’t_ do. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe.”

 

“Ok.” She seems satisfied with that answer, but now Jack is the one who’s curious.

 

“Is that something _you’d_ want to do someday?”

 

She reaches out and puts her hand on his leg, not taking her eyes off the crossword puzzle. “Maybe.”

 

Jack nods. They fall quiet again for a long time, and Jack is fully engrossed in an article about how badly the Cubs lost to the Rockies yesterday when Sam looks up and says, “When was Charlie’s birthday?”

 

Jack turns to her. “March 5,” he says. He thinks he knows where she’s going with this, and he really, really likes it.

 

“Let’s do something March 5,” she says.

 

Jack feels himself nodding, and he squeezes her hand that’s on his leg. This is a plan he can get behind.

 

—

 

The next week, the Tok’ra come calling again. But this time, it’s not Jacob; it’s Anise, whom they’ve never met before. She’s got these arm bands she wants SG-1 to try, and she assures them that every safety precaution has been taken.

 

So they put the armbands on, and they’re better than good, they’re unstoppable, they’re out of control.

 

And the next thing Sam knows, she’s on one side of a force field and Jack is on the other, their armbands discarded, useless on the floor. She’s begging him to leave, pleading with him, because there’s no time, the C4 is about to blow. Sam knows it’s too late for her, but all she can think is that after all this, Amy can’t lose them both.

  
  



	32. Divide and Conquer

“Are you sure you're telling me everything?”

Anise sits next to the za’tarc detector and stares at Sam, her expression excruciatingly flat. Behind her, Martouf, Janet, and General Hammond have their eyes glued to the screen displaying the results of Sam’s test as she recounts their ill-conceived mission to PX9-797.

Sam has made a real effort _not_ to think about that day. She’s tried not to remember the desperation and anguish in Jack’s eyes. She’s actively tried to forget what it felt like to realize that Amy would grow up without her—without both of them—that they would never get to be a family.

“Um… I tried to go back for the naquadah,” Sam offers. She hopes this will be enough.

Of all missions for Sam to have to relive and report to the satisfaction an advanced alien lie detector, it had to be this mission. Though if Sam is being honest with herself, it could’ve been any mission, any day, and she probably would have been thinking or feeling something incriminating about her commanding officer.

But clearly she’s not being honest with herself.

“That’s everything?” Anise presses, and Sam can’t decide if she sounds earnest or smug. Martouf, Janet, and General Hammond are now staring at her too, their expressions grim.

—

Jack comes to see her in her holding cell. They think he’s a za’tarc too, which doesn’t surprise Sam in the least. She wishes she could believe this was some kind of mistake, but she knows precisely what went wrong back there. She sighs and looks down at her hands.

“I was lying,” she says.

“What?” He looks alarmed, but there’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, like maybe he knows exactly what she means.

“You were lying too.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“You left something out, then.”

He frowns and looks at the floor but doesn’t deny it.

“That day on the ship, when you wouldn’t leave me,” she says, “do you know what I was thinking?” He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t so much as nod. “I was thinking,” she swallows and forces herself to just say it, “I was thinking we’d never be a family. The three of us. I couldn’t bear it.”

He makes a move for her then like he wants to touch her, like he wants to take her in his arms. But he stops himself and glances up at the security camera, not that it matters at this point.

“We weren't telling the whole truth, and that's why the machine thinks our memories are false,” she says. It’s a relief, but also, it’s really, really not. “We need to get retested.”

—

Maybe if they had told the whole truth right away, this could’ve been an embarrassing and awkward matter, but one for the SGC to handle internally. As it is, the President of the United States is on his way to the SGC, and he’s already been notified that half of their flagship team may have been compromised. And then he gets notified that they’ve been cleared again. And then he—the _President of the United States_ —wants to know what happened, and so does every single politician and Air Force General with clearance.

—

The summit between the Supreme High Councillor of the Tok'ra and the President of the United States procedes, and when it’s through, Hammond summons Sam and Jack to his office.

He cuts right to the chase. “I don’t think I need to explain to either one of you how serious this is.” He doesn’t say what _this_ is; he doesn’t have to. They all know.

“Sir, I’d just like to say that I—” Jack starts, but Hammond cuts him off.

“Colonel, you will speak when I give you permission to speak, and not sooner.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam sees Jack’s mouth snap shut. Hammond is practically seething, his fists clenched and jaw set tight and his face bright red. She hangs her head. This could be it, right here, her whole Air Force career, everything she’s been working for her entire life.

“I also don’t think I need to tell you that there are people out there who would like nothing more than to hang SG-1 out to dry. You’ve given them just the ammunition they’ve been looking for.”

Sam feels a wave of shame wash over her. The safety of the planet hangs on the integrity of SG-1, and that might not be fair, but it’s no less true. She can’t believe she lost sight of that. She can’t believe she’s been so selfish.

“And I’m sure you’re both well aware that if anyone were to seek out evidence that the two of you were carrying on an inappropriate relationship _at the SGC_ , such evidence would not be hard to come by.”

Oh, god. That kiss in the parking lot. Sam squeezes her eyes shut and feels herself turning red. Has General Hammond seen the parking lot kiss? Who else has seen it? Who else _will_ see it? It had seemed so necessary at the time, so irresistible. She’d told herself that she needed it, that she _deserved_ it even. She’d known there were security cameras. She hadn’t cared.

But it’s too late to start caring now, because while that might be the most incriminating piece of evidence against them, it is by no means the only one. Somewhere in the last month, through all the effort Sam has put into not having sex with her commanding officer, she lost sight of the fact that what she’s really not supposed to do is be in love with him in the first place. Whether they’re actually sleeping together, at this point, is almost immaterial.

She wonders if Hammond thinks they’re sleeping together. She wonders if he’d believe her if she told him they weren’t. She wonders if anyone would believe her, anymore.

Hammond lets this sink in for a long moment before he speaks again, this time in a somewhat less abrasive tone. “There are others among my superiors who understand what it would mean for this planet if the two of you were to be brought up on charges and removed from the service.”

“I don’t want any special treatment, sir,” Sam says, remembering belatedly that she’s not supposed to talk.

Hammond narrows his eyes at her. “Well you could use it right now, Major,” he snaps.

Sam hangs her head again. She’s always liked to think of herself as the kind of person who plays fair, and somewhere along the way, she lost sight of that too.

But then Hammond flexes his hands and shakes his head, visibly collecting himself.

“On a personal note, I’d like to apologize. It was my duty as commander of this base to separate you as soon as I suspected there was a problem. I assumed you wouldn’t let it affect your work, but clearly, none of us anticipated a scenario such as this.”

Sam doesn’t dare to peek at Jack, but she does lift her head and look at General Hammond. The last thing she wants is for him to think that any part of this is his fault.

“As for what happens next, I can’t tell you yet,” Hammond continues. “There is some debate as to what, exactly, you confessed, and whether this absolutely requires further investigation into the nature of your relationship.”

Sam’s eyes go wide at this; she can’t believe anyone would argue against bringing them up on charges. It’s true that during their retest, both she and Jack chose their words carefully, speaking as honestly but concisely as possible. Still, it’s hard to imagine their defenders would have much of a case.

Hammond must notice Sam’s disbelief. “With the signing of the treaty today, there’s a lot of momentum behind the program,” he explains. “That works in your favor, as does the recent return of Apophis and the new threat of the Replicators.” Sam tries not to visibly cringe at the idea that Apophis and the Replicators are working in their favor right now.

Hammond pauses, and eyes them both carefully before speaking again. “I was able to convince my superiors that until they decide whether and how they will proceed against you, SG-1 should continue to operate as usual.”

“What?” Jack says.

“You were?” Sam says as the same time.

“The two of you have been instrumental in building our relationship with the Tok’ra. It would not look good to our new allies if SG-1 was suddenly grounded.” Sam can't help but think of one Tok’ra in particular, though she really doesn’t have the capacity right now to worry about how disappointed her dad will be.

“In the meantime, you two need to stay the course. No transfers,” he says, looking at Sam, and then he turns to Jack, “and no retirement.”

“But—” Jack starts to say.

“Your request for retirement has been tabled,” Hammond says. Jack goes completely still, but his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow just enough for Sam to know that inside, he’s raging. Sam just closes her eyes. It makes sense, as much as she hates to admit it. Anyone who’s interested in dismantling SG-1 over this could interpret a career change for either one of them as an admission of guilt. And anyone who’s interested in letting them slide for the sake of the program’s momentum would not want to let Jack retire.

Hammond sighs. “And with regards to your... personal interactions, I expect both of you to conduct yourselves with the utmost professionalism. We don’t know who might be watching right now. You need to be above reproach.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replies, and Jack says the same.

“I know there is a child involved,” Hammond adds, and Sam feels herself turning red all over again, because it’s _her_ child. _Her_ child is the reason why this got so out of hand in the first place, although…

She chances a quick glance at Jack and knows in her heart that even without Amy, they’d likely still be right where they are now.

“But there is a lot riding on this,” Hammond continues. “A lot more than just your careers. Is that understood?” He speaks slowly, emphasizing each word, like they’re idiots. Right now, it fits.

“Yes, sir.”

—

It’s a Friday, of course it’s a Friday, when they more or less confess their love for each other in front of the US Air Force. And now it’s Saturday morning, and Jack is bracing himself for what the day might bring, or more specifically, for what it might not bring.

Things had been going so well for a whole month now, ever since he got home from Edora and wrapped up that undercover op. He and Sam had been talking. They’d been making plans. He was part of her life again—hers and Amy’s—and it was supposed to be just the beginning. He was supposed to fucking retire.

Then the goddamn Tok’ra showed up and ruined everything.

He and Sam haven’t talked since the za’tarc test, haven’t had a moment alone together since yesterday morning in her holding cell, but Jack caught the half-horrified, half-ashamed look in her eyes as they left Hammond’s office last night. That look filled him with more dread than the threat of a court martial ever could, because he might love her, and she might even love him back, and love might be a powerful thing, but there’s nothing quite like shame.

And the worst part is that it’s not just Sam, it’s Amy too. He could lose them both. He’d told himself, years ago, that loving Amy was ok. Kids are loveable. But to love the kid of your second in command, whom you also love, and you're really, really not supposed to, that’s not ok at all.

As the clock ticks slowly toward 10:00, Jack sits on a chair in his dining room, picking at a string on the cuff of his shirt sleeve and staring at his front door. They’ve been spending more than two days a week together lately, but they never miss a Wednesday or a Saturday. Saturdays, especially, are sacred. Saturdays are where it all began. Amy wouldn’t let them miss a Saturday. Would she?

He should find something to do, he thinks as the seconds tick by, some menial task to keep himself occupied: wash the dishes, mow the lawn. He finds, though, that the only thing he actually wants to do is hold his breath and stare at his door and wait to see if someone knocks.

Someone does.

Jack glances at his watch: it’s 10:05. Slowly, he rises from his place of vigil in the dining room, and slowly, he moves toward the door, considering along the way the very real possibility that he totally imagined the knock.

But he opens the door and there they are, two blond Carters, one of them smiling cheerfully at him, the other one, not so much.

“Hey,” he says.

“Jack!” Amy jumps and hugs his legs. He hugs her back, but keeps his eyes on Sam, who’s looking around nervously.

“Hey,” she finally manages to greet him.

Amy skips into the house, and Jack and Sam stare at each other in silence for a moment too long. “I’m glad you came,” he says. It’s the understatement of the year. He can hardly contain his relief at the sight of her, even if she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Yeah,” she replies. “It’s Saturday."

He nods. Yep. At least they’re on the same page about what day of the week it is.

“We’re busy next weekend,” she blurts out. “We’ve got a thing, with Mark, it’s for his work, and, uh…” She trails off, but Jack freezes as realization dawns: it’s her Halloween candy strategy all over again. This weekend, it’s too late to cancel, too late to come up with a sufficiently convincing lie. Four-year-olds can see right through your bullshit. But next weekend, she’s already got something else lined up, something with Mark’s family, and Amy might accept Jack not joining them. Then the next weekend she’ll plan something else, and something else, until eventually Amy forgets all about what Saturday mornings used to be, what they used to mean.

Jack swallows. “No problem.” He realizes he should’ve expected exactly this.

“I can’t stick around today either,” she says, already taking small steps back toward the safety of her car. “Hope that’s ok.”

Feeling a surge of bravery—or maybe desperation—Jack reaches forward and grabs her arm. She stares at his hand on her like he’s just infected her with an alien contagion, but he doesn’t let that deter him. “Can we talk?”

She turns her gaze back up to him, her blue eyes wide and sad. “Can we?”

Jack sighs and lets go of her arm. She turns and makes her escape.

He wants to go after her. He wants to tell her she doesn’t have to run. He wants to beg her to stay so they can figure out a solution, a miraculous way to make this work. Doing the impossible is kind of her thing, after all. He wants to take her hand and promise her that somehow, everything will be just fine. He _needs_ to hear her tell him that this isn’t how this ends.

But instead, he steps back into the house and closes the door. Amy is down in the living room, sitting on the couch. She’s flipping through one of the books she brought, oblivious to the tension between the two adults.

“Well,” he says, flopping down next to her, "looks like it’s just you and me today.” She looks up from her book and smiles, and Jack feels a rush of gratitude. “So what do you say, trains or Lincoln Logs?"

Amy taps her finger against her chin. “Hmmm,” she muses. “I was thinking… trains _and_ Lincoln Logs.”

Jack nods. “I like the way you think.” It’s the best idea he’s heard all day, actually.

Amy retrieves the toys while Jack pushes the coffee table up against the wall and out of the way. He’d gotten a basic train set at a garage sale sometime last summer or fall, he doesn’t remember when, exactly. Amy spent so much time at his house that it had seemed like a sensible thing to do. It also seemed sensible to pick up a couple expansion packs here and there, and now her train set here rivals her set at home.

Jack dumps out the bag of track pieces and Amy dumps the box of Lincoln Logs right on top of them. He wonders what ever became of Charlie’s set. Maybe Sara has it still. Maybe she gave it away or something. Charlie had a really great train set.

As he and Amy get to work, Jack feels himself start to relax for the first time since Anise ever told him he was a za’tarc. Kids are exceptionally good at living in the moment, and maybe for this moment, he can be too. He loves playing with Amy: her imagination, her focus, her total commitment to the world she creates, the way her little tongue sticks out of her mouth when she’s trying to figure something out. And he loves trains just as much as she does, just as much as Charlie ever did. He could spend all day building and demolishing and rebuilding routes around his living room with her. It’s relaxing, almost meditative, though he’d never tell anyone how much he needs that sometimes. He needs it right now, that’s for sure.

Amy helps Jack with the trains at first. When she was little, she used to mostly pick out pieces for him to use or run the little wooden trains along track he’d already laid. But she’s grown so much since then. These days, she’s got a real interest in track design and schematics. He figues it won’t be much longer before she starts trying to figure out how to run a track down the steps to the living room, or something like that.

That is, if they’ve got much longer.

After a while, Amy drifts over to the Lincoln Logs, Charlie’s old set. She collects a big pile of pieces of the same length, and then she sets about building a solid, square tower.

“Nice tower,” Jack says with a nod at her structure.

“Actually, it’s not a tower,” she corrects him. “It’s a wishing well."

“Oh.” A wishing well. Of course. “So tell me, what’s a wishing well?"

“It’s for wishing wishes,” she explains with an air of solemnity.

“I see,” Jack says. “How does it work?"

Amy looks pleased with herself, like she’s been waiting for him to ask exactly that. “I can demonstrate,” she says. “First, you have to have a wish. Like…” she thinks for a moment, and then says, “I wish we could be so so small, and we could fit in our trains and ride on our train track!”

Jack nods. “Good wish,” he says.

“I know,” she says, as sure of herself as ever. “You have to hold the wish in your hands,” she continues. She cups her small hands together in front of her. “And then you dump it into the wishing well.” She walks gingerly across the minefield of small wooden toys and, upon reaching her target, tips her hands forward, as if emptying their imaginary contents into the square tower. “Now, you watch for your wish cloud to come floating out into the sky."

“Wish cloud?"

“It’s a cloud for your wish to ride on. Look!” She points excitedly at the wishing well, and then her finger traces an imaginary line in a slow arc up the ceiling. “There’s my wish, on a cloud! It’s us being so tiny and riding on the trains! Ha!” She seems so genuinely delighted, Jack can practically picture it too.

“Wow,” he says, his gaze following hers to the ceiling above. “Would you look at that."

“Now it’s your turn. What’s your wish?"

“I wish dogs could talk,” he says, and immediately regrets it. If dogs could talk, he’d probably like them a lot less.

But Amy smiles approvingly. “Put it in the wishing well!”

Jack sits up on his knees and cups his hands together like she’d done, pouring his wish into the well with care. Then he sits back on his heels.

“Look at your wish cloud!” Amy laughs, pointing up into the air at nothing. “It’s talking dogs! I never saw talking dogs before!”

Together, they watch the cloud float up and away, and then it’s Amy’s turn again. “I wish I could be 100 years old so I would be as tall as my house!” She raises her arms and jumps in the air for emphasis before cupping her hands in front of her again.

Jack does his best not to grimace. He’s done the “sudden old man” thing, and he can honestly say that not only does being super old not make you super tall, it actually feels like shit. Amy is grinning though, like she’s finally figured out the secret to being tall, so he motions at the tower. “Put it in the wishing well,” he says.

She does, and together they watch her wish of extreme old age and extreme height, somehow causally linked, float away on an imaginary cloud.

Once they get going, it’s not hard to think of more and more things he wishes for, and it feels good to spout them off. He and Amy go back and forth, depositing their wishes in the well and following each wish cloud as it floats away.

“I wish I never had to wear socks, even when it’s snowing."

“I wish I was an adult so I could like coffee."

“I wish I could eat cake for breakfast."

“I wish I was a horse that could fly."

“I wish I could walk upside down on the ceiling."

“I wish I could fart all day and Uncle Mark would never say don’t fart to me."

Jack laughs at that one and Amy grins some more. The kid knows how to make him smile. He’s definitely feeling better than he was a half hour ago, even if he knows that it’s only temporary. “I wish I could build a fort with couch cushions and live in it,” he says when it’s his turn. Amy nods her approval and they both watch the wish cloud of Jack living in a cushion fort float away.

Amy’s next. “I wish you lived at my house with me and mama so all my train tracks could be together and we could build the biggest train track ever!”

Well. Maybe Amy’s not so oblivious to the tension between himself and Sam as she’d seemed to be. Jack grasps for something to say next as they watch the wish cloud slowly float away. He should downplay it. He should just ignore it, move on, state his next wish, as they have been doing. But the wish cloud is long gone and he’s still coming up empty.

As if sensing his internal conflict, Amy jumps back in. “I think it’s my turn again.” She looks at him hesitantly for just a moment, and then her face breaks into a smile and she says, “I wish you could be my dad, Jack."

“Oh, Amy."

Softly, she rises, and gently, gently, she pours the wish into the well, and for a brief moment while her back is to him, Jack bites the inside of his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. He will not tear up. Amy sits back down next to him and points at the imaginary wish cloud as it slowly rises from the well of Charlie’s Lincoln Logs, up into the sky. “Look at us!” she says excitedly. “You’re my dad and I’m your Amy!”

Jack can’t speak at all, doesn’t trust himself to move or open his mouth for fear that he will sweep Amy into his arms and weep openly for all he has lost and all he will never have but longs for, more deeply than he could ever express, even with imaginary wish clouds. But when she leans her head against him, he puts his arm around her and she sighs contentedly, and he thinks that if the world were to end right now, it would be an ok note to go out on.

The world doesn’t end and too much time has passed for this wish cloud to evaporate or blow away or whatever they do. Jack still can’t think of a single thing to say. “It’s still my turn, I guess,” Amy says. “I wish… I wish I could throw corn at peoples’ heads."

Jack bursts out laughing at this, a genuine belly laugh that mercifully releases all the tension and self-pity that had been so rapidly accumulating. And if there are tears in his eyes, it’s only because he’s laughing so hard.

—

Two weeks pass.

They manage a handful of team nights, for Amy’s sake. Daniel and Teal’c seem to understand their role as cover, casually handling the logistics of food prep and clean-up so Jack can sit next to Amy in the warm summer grass and read her a book that he picked up when he went to the library by himself.

They manage a few missions too, but they’re not unstoppable anymore. They’re barely even good. In Russia, they nearly get themselves killed. On P5S-381, they nearly kill a whole civilization.

And then on P3R-118, in a domed city on a planet in the middle of an ice age, they get captured.

 


	33. Beneath the Surface

Thera leans her head against Jonah’s shoulder. The heat from the ventilation shaft behind them is almost overwhelming, even more so when one considers the deadly ice and cold not far above them. Everything is too hot or too cold, but this man at her side, he feels just right. Being with him feels like breathing fresh air, whatever that feels like.

“I dream about a little girl,” Thera says without preamble, “a little girl with blue eyes and curly blonde hair.”

“Hm,” Jonah says, and she can feel the vibration of his chest. “I dream about a little boy.”

Thera chuckles softly and turns her face into his shirt. “I guess we don’t need a shrink to tell us what that means.”

“Shrink?” Jonah looks down at her.

“Figure of speech?” she offers weakly.

He eyes her for a moment longer and then apparently decides to tuck that one away with all the other strange words and references and visions that make sense only to them. He settles back against the hot wall and she settles on his shoulder again, but she’s not done talking about this. The girl in her dreams makes her feel a sense of longing and a sense of disquietude that stay with her all day.

“We’re dreaming of when we were young, and life was easier,” she tries. It’s a reasonable explanation that would make sense of these haunting, haunting dreams. It’s what a shrink would say, she thinks, whatever that is.

“I don’t know,” he muses softly. “I don’t think it’s me. The boy.”

This thought both terrifies and thrills her. “Who is he then?”

She feels him shrug. “I don’t know.” He’s quiet for a while and then he asks, “Were our lives easier when we were young?”

Thera tries as hard as she can to recall the details of a childhood that’s supposed to be hers. But she comes up empty. So instead of saying anything, she sighs, and Jonah reaches his arm around her and pulls her in closer. “Hey,” he says into her hair. “We’re going to be just fine. Right as rain.”

Thera nods and breathes him in and blinks back tears, because what he said feels comforting, but she doesn’t have a clue what rain is.

—

“Major,” General Hammond greets her. “Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.”

Sam would rather remain standing for a meeting like this, but she obeys, lowering herself slowly into the armchair across the desk from the General. She is hyper-aware of her surroundings, of every detail that belongs to this life. She silently catalogues the coolness of the brown leather on her arms, the slight squeak of the chair as it settles under her weight, the dank, heavy, recycled air that she’s breathing, in and out, in and out.

Major Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. She knows this office. She knows this chair.

They were gone for two weeks.

So many significant moments in her life have come to pass right here, in this exact spot. Her fingers, folded tensely in her lap, twitch as the memories come back to her. It was here that she learned the news of her mother’s death, now nearly two years ago. It was here that she convinced Hammond to let her father become a Tok’ra.

“My superiors have reviewed your request,” Hammond begins. He doesn’t ask her how she’s feeling, doesn’t try to make small talk, doesn’t question the wisdom of her making a decision of this magnitude when she’s been—quite literally—not herself for a while. She thinks he understands her need to do this now, right away, before Janet even lets them out of the mountain. She thinks he must know this is the only choice.

They were gone for two weeks, they’ve been back for three days, and they’ll go home this afternoon. But Sam won’t be able to look her daughter in the eye again until this is done.

“They have agreed to grant it. Your reassignment will be effective immediately.”

Sam breathes out familiar, recycled air, and nods. She can practically feel the thrum of the fans in the ventilation shafts and the buzz of the electricity feeding the overhead fluorescent lights. It was in this office that she joined SG-1, and in this office, now, that she leaves it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... next chapter tomorrow, I promise!


	34. Point of No Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I did post the Beneath the Surface chapter yesterday. If you missed it, you should go back and read that first, or else this chapter will be confusing.)

Jack swings by his office before leaving the mountain. SG-1 is on stand-down for two more weeks, following their ordeal on P3R-118, and he thinks it might be a good idea to pop in and check his inbox or something.

It turns out to be a terrible idea. Sitting on his desk is a pile of all the work he should be doing over the next two weeks, stacked on top of all the work he didn’t do for the last two weeks, stacked on top of all the work he didn’t quite get around to for god knows how long before that. He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, running a hand over his face.

But with his eyes closed, all he can see is her—Thera, Sam, Major Carter, whoever—leaning her head against his shoulder, her short hair tickling his neck. It was strictly forbidden for workers to fraternize and they’d only had a few stolen moments like that.

The stamp has faded but his memories of their time on that planet have not. And anyway, it’s not like Jack needed a mind stamp to know that it’s wrong to want her like he does.

As for his old memories—his real memories—they’re still in there too. He feels like himself again, but the parts that make up the whole keep coming back to him in weird spurts, flashes of vivid memories reasserting themselves abruptly at the slightest trigger.

And now he’s supposed to go home, but he’s not even sure what that means. Home is her, now more than ever, but they’ve hardly said two words to each other since they got back to the SGC. They’ve hardly had the chance. And there’s still this whole za’tarc thing hanging over their heads. Jack sees a flash of memories—Anise, Hammond, a glowing red light, and Sam, her face etched with shame as she walks away from him.

He shakes his head to clear it and decides that whatever’s in that pile on his desk can wait two more weeks.

It’s then that he hears a knock on the door, which is unusual, to say the least. Jack really doesn’t advertise the fact that he has an office, and there are very few people who would bother looking for him here. He’s even more surprised when he glances up and sees who it is.

“General?”

“I was hoping I’d catch you, Colonel.”

“Must be your lucky day, sir,” Jack replies dryly. They’ve had a couple meetings with Hammond since their return, and apparently it’s all been enough to convince Hammond that with a little R&R, SG-1 will be fit to return to active duty in just a few weeks’ time. Jack isn’t sure whether he’s happy about that. The whole mind stamp thing really set the bar for a fucked-up near-miss.

“I don’t expect you to spend your downtime catching up on missed paperwork,” Hammond says, “but there’s one item I would like to bring to your attention. It concerns SG-1.”

Jack sighs. He’s really not in the mood for an update on whatever bullshit political posturing has happened in his absence. There have been too many uncomfortable conversations with Hammond lately—Jack’s mind all-too-easily supplies the most recent ones in vivid detail—and he’s not interested in going another round right now.

But Hammond reaches for the pile on Jack’s desk anyway, flips through the top papers and hands one to Jack.

It’s reassignment orders. Carter’s reassignment orders.

Jack frowns at the paper, trying to make sense of it. Hammond seems to be giving Jack a moment to let this sink in, though he’s going to need a hell of a lot more than a moment. “What?” he finally manages.

“As soon as you returned from P3R-118, Major Carter requested reassignment, and my superiors have agreed to grant her request.”

Jack is dumbstruck. “She what?”

“She’ll still be with the Stargate program, but she’ll be working in the science department, and no longer going off-world as a member of an SG team.” Hammond pauses, and Jack rubs his forehead, trying to focus. Science department?

His overactive memory easily recalls a very specific—and quite recent—conversation where Hammond told both of them that transfers and other such career changes would not be permitted.

“But I thought—”

“The situation has changed,” Hammond says. “Her request for transfer was inarguably a result of what happened to you folks on that planet. Frankly, my superiors were relieved that she agreed to stay with the program at all.”

Jack takes a deep breath in and out and tries to wrap his mind around what this might mean.

“Furthermore,” Hammond continues when Jack says nothing, “they have agreed to drop any pending investigation against the two of you.”

Jack blinks back at him. “You’re kidding.” It seems too good to be true. But then again, they are _way_ overdue for a break.

Hammond allows a small smile. “I was able to convince them that pursuing a now-irrelevant claim against two key officers in this front-line facility would only serve to undermine unit cohesion, morale, discipline and respect for authority, particularly when those two officers have just returned from being missing and presumed dead.”

Jack’s eyes go wide, he can’t help it. It looks like Hammond came through for them after all. “Does Carter know about this?”

“I told her myself,” Hammond confirms, and dammit if he doesn’t look just a little bit smug.

“What did she say?”

Hammond nearly chuckles. “Maybe you should ask her yourself, son.”

—

Sam pulls her car into Mark and Heather’s driveway and there stands Mark, hands in his pockets, a tight frown on his face. She looks down at the clock on her dash. It’s 2:00 p.m. on a Wednesday. He must’ve taken the day off work just for this.

Mark moves towards her as she gets out of the car, and by the time she closes the door, he’s pulling her into a hug. It’s an appropriate thing to do the first time you see your only sibling after she’s been missing for weeks, but for Mark, this is a significant display, especially out in the driveway for anyone to see.

“It’s good to have you back in one piece,” he says, clapping his hands on her shoulders and then sticking them back in his pockets.

“It’s good to be back,” she says. She straightens a little; she suspects Mark is vetting her just as much as he’s welcoming her, making sure she’s ok enough to care for a child—the child his family has been taking care of while she’s been missing. She doesn’t exactly blame him for his caution, but she’s also not in the mood to placate him. She wants to see her daughter. She tries to peek past him into the house, but there’s no one at the front windows. “How’s Amy?”

They’ve talked on the phone, of course. Sam and Mark talked mostly about logistical stuff, like that she was home and what time she would come pick up Amy. And she’d talked to Heather, who’d assured Sam that Amy missed her but was otherwise doing fine. Heather’s exact words had been _“it wasn’t nearly as bad as last time,”_ by which Sam can only assume she meant Edora. It wasn’t all that comforting, even if Heather had likely intended it to be. Sam has even talked to Amy on the phone, though like many four year-olds, the phone isn’t really her thing.

“The kids are in the backyard,” Mark says, making no move to leave the driveway.

Sam nods. So he wants to talk about this now. Fine.

“Some Air Force liaison called and said to get your paperwork in order,” Mark says, the contempt evident in his voice. “And then George called the next day and said to disregard it. He sounded kind of pissed. Said not to listen to anything unless it came from him.” Mark pauses to roll his eyes. “And then Dad stopped by.”

Well, that’s news. “He did?”

Mark nods. “Yeah. He told Amy you got caught up with something at work but you’d be home as soon as you could. Told her to keep her chin up. Then after the kids went to bed, he told me and Heather not to believe you were dead until we saw a body.”

Sam raises her eyebrows, though she’s not really surprised. This is typical Jacob Carter, all bluster and confidence, absolutely no tact. But she hadn’t known he’d been involved. Apparently Hammond wasn’t kidding when he said they’d tried everything.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. It’s not enough, but it’s all she can say. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.”

Mark scoffs a little and looks down at the driveway. “Where were you, Sam?” he says.

He knows he can’t ask questions like this, and he and Heather have both done a remarkable job of never asking before. Maybe after these last two weeks, he feels himself entitled.

“Do you even know?” he says, more forcefully now. “What did they do to you?” Sam closes her eyes and drops her head. “Jesus, Sam. I thought this was it, this time. I thought Dad was bullshitting and I thought you were...”

Sam presses her lips together and forces herself to take a deep breath. Mark pretends he has nothing in common with Jacob until he shows he cares by scolding you. The problem is that he’s right. This very nearly was it. And it wasn’t even the Goa’uld, it was just your run-of-the-mill, stupid, arrogant humans. If that mind stamp had worked, or if Brenna hadn’t stuck her neck out like she did… yeah, Sam had sort of thought this was it for them too.

“It won’t happen again.”

Mark narrows his eyes at her. “How can you possibly say something like that?”

“Because,” she says, narrowing her eyes back at him. “Because I got reassigned.”

Mark has no immediate reply, which Sam takes as evidence that he was not expecting this.

“I asked for it,” she continues. “Reassignment. No more… no more travel.” It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, to someone who’s not George Hammond, at least. It feels strange and wrong but liberating, all at the same time. It feels like what she needs to do.

“Well,” Mark says finally. “That’s good.”

“Can I please see my daughter now?”

“Yeah, of course,” he relents. “I was just so worried about you, Sam.”

“I know,” she says.

She follows him around the side of the house and there’s Amy. She doesn’t see Sam at first, she’s picking up a stick or something off the ground, but then she stands up and turns, and her face breaks into a wide smile.

“Mama!” She drops the stick and runs to meet Sam, and Sam remembers all at once a hundred homecomings where Amy has done exactly this. She drops to her knees and takes Amy in her arms as tears fill her eyes and memories crash into her. So many close calls—those first missions to Abydos and Chulak, being stranded in Antarctica, blowing up Apophis’ ship, Seth, Hathor, Edora—and now this. She runs her hand over Amy’s long curly hair and remembers how soft and wispy it used to be, back when she was little and leaving her behind to go through the Stargate had felt heroic and good.

“I missed you, baby,” Sam says, clutching Amy tighter. Three years’ worth of homecomings, but this one is the last. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you so much too!” Amy pulls back and runs her hands over Sam’s face and arms and now-short hair. Sam is relieved to note that Amy’s hands are just as small as they were two weeks earlier. Then Amy graces Sam with a delightfully quizzical look, one that’s so completely _Amy_ that it takes her breath away. “Why is your hair short?”

“I cut it,” Sam says. She leaves out the part where she forgot who she was, forgot her only child, and found the long hair to be more of a hindrance than an asset in the underground facility where she was being held captive. “Do you like it?”

“No,” Amy says. She smiles again and throws her arms back around Sam’s neck. “I’m so happy you’re home!”

“Me too,” Sam murmurs into her hair. “Me too, me too.”

—

At home, Jack is pacing. His instinct is to jump in his truck and drive to her house, but he also wants to give her space, if that’s what she needs. He respects the fact that they only just got home, he knows that she absolutely needs this time with Amy, and he definitely picked up on the fact that she chose not to talk to him about any of this.

They hadn’t exactly left things on strong footing, with the Air Force breathing down their necks in the wake of the za’tarc fiasco. But as of today, things are different. As of today, she’s out of his chain of command. This might finally be their moment.

But for all he knows, she’s still too ashamed about the za’tarc thing, or maybe too spooked by the ice planet, or maybe she’s just plain over it, this long drawn-out battle, where every force in the universe seems to be aligning against them. It’s been one disaster after another after another. Maybe she’s finally decided she wants off the roller coaster.

He sighs and checks his watch; it’s just after 9:00 p.m. He can’t decide if it makes him a bigger asshole to show up uninvited or to stay home and do nothing.

So he waits. And he paces.

And then the phone rings.

“O’Neill,” he answers. He’s gone completely still, rooted to the worn spot on his floor. If this is a telemarketer, he’s going to lose it.

“Hey,” a voice says. Her voice.

“Hey,” he says back, his shoulders sagging in relief. She called.

“I was thinking we should talk.” She sounds out of breath, like she just got back from a run, or maybe like she had to psyche herself up to make this call.

“Ok,” he says. Talking. He takes a deep breath and steels himself for whatever she’s about to say.

“I was thinking in person.”

“Oh,” Jack says.

“Can you come over?”

Jack’s eyes go wide. “Now?”

“Are you busy?” She sounds hesitant, like she’s afraid of interrupting his big plans to watch ESPN until Simpsons re-runs come on later. Not a chance.

“I’m on my way,” he says, already grabbing his keys.

He makes it to her house in record time.

She’s waiting for him at the door and when she lets him in, they stand awkwardly in the entryway, staring at each other. Jack clears his throat and decides that if she was brave enough to make a move and call him, he can be brave enough to make the next move and start talking.

“Amy? How is she?”

Sam nods. “She’s fine. She’s sleeping.”

“Good,” Jack says. Fine is good. He’ll want more detail on that at some point, but right now, he’s got other things to say. “You left SG-1.”

She nods again, her eyes searching his.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” she starts to say, but Jack waves a hand.

“I understand.”

“You do?” she says, and Jack nods. It was too close, way too close, for both of them. It was too much like Antarctica, but somehow worse, because they didn’t just nearly die, they nearly lost themselves. He understands her needing to settle things with Amy first. And he’s feeling better and better about his own prospects now that he’s standing in her house.

She takes a small step toward him, and Jack isn’t even sure if it’s a conscious decision on his part when he steps toward her too. It feels more like a force of nature.

“It’s just…” she bites her lip and looks up at the ceiling, “they made me forget her.” She chokes a little on this last word, like she still hasn’t come to terms with something so unforgivable.

“Hey,” Jack says. He takes one more step toward her and puts his hands on her arms in a gesture that he hopes is reassuring. “Don’t do that. You didn’t forget her. You never did.” She looks up at him and she’s so close, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears, and Jack can’t help but move one of his hands up to cup her face. “We didn’t forget each other either.”

She closes her eyes at that and lays her hand on top of his. Then she takes a deep breath. “I want this, Jack,” she says. “If you still want it too.” Her voice is quiet but confident. He’s always loved her best when she’s sure of herself like this, making a leap and taking a chance because she knows in her gut that it just might be worth it.

“And I’m sick of everything coming between us.” She runs her thumb over his knuckles and he has a flash of a memory, a fresh-faced stranger looking way too hot in her dress blues, challenging him to arm wrestle. He loves this fire in her eyes. He loves that she knows exactly what she wants. He loves that it’s him.

“Carter,” he says, moving his other hand up to her face too, “I am _so_ sick of it.”

And then he kisses her, and she kisses him back, and it’s every cliché he ever knew about kissing come to life, because the heavens are opening and the earth is shaking, and this is only just the beginning. They’re not in a parking lot, there are no security cameras, she’s not his subordinate. Nothing about this is wrong; everything is very, very right.

It feels right when she backs him into the wall and presses her whole body against his. It feels right when he kisses his way down her neck, skimming the sides of her breasts with his fingers and causing her to shudder. It feels right when she untucks his shirt and slips her hands underneath, stroking his bare skin.

And when she takes a step back—all flushed and sexy and perfect—and reaches her hand out to lead him up the stairs to her bedroom, Jack thinks nothing has felt this right before, ever, in the history of the world.

They’re barely inside the bedroom door and Sam gets to work on the buttons of his shirt. She pushes it off his shoulders and then pulls at the t-shirt he’s got on underneath in a way that makes Jack wonder what the hell he was thinking, wearing two shirts over here tonight.

He goes for her shirt next, and she’s more than happy to help him lift it over her head. She throws it on the floor and he kisses her some more, running his hands over the almost-bare skin of her back as his mouth works its way along her jaw. Her skin is soft and her body is strong and the catch of the lace on her bra against his chest is almost more than he can handle. Then she reaches an arm back and unhooks her bra, and her bare chest against his is even better.

Removing pants is a somewhat less graceful endeavor, but they’re making their way toward the bed now, which works to their advantage. She runs the backs of her fingers against the stiff front of his jeans, and he buries his head in her neck, breathing hard.

Carefully, they help each other out of their pants and onto the bed. The less clothing Jack is wearing, the closer he needs to be to her. She’s lying on her back and his leg is pressing into her as he kisses the swell of her breast but it’s not close enough, not as close as it can be. Not as close as it’s about to be.

She reaches for the waist of his boxers and he lays his hand on top of hers. He wants to savor this. They’re both breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in a way that will be burned into his mind from this moment forward. He wants to tell her that he’s dreamed of this, in so many ways, for such a long time. He wants to tell her that she’s perfect, better than perfect. He wants to tell her that he loves her, and not just because she’s almost naked and underneath him and they’re both about to lose their underwear.

“Jack,” she says, her hands drifting up and down his chest, “I know.” She kisses him again until he forgets everything he didn’t say, until he forgets language entirely, and the next thing he knows, their underwear has joined the rest of their clothes on the floor and he’s pushing himself inside her.

He thought it would maybe be slow and tender, their first time together, especially if they made it as far as a bed. He sets a pace that’s as tender as he can manage, but she’s urging him on with her hips and her heels, so he changes his mind and starts moving more confidently, like he knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it. And maybe he does, because this seems to be working for her, if the sounds she’s making and the way she’s moving underneath him are any indication. It is unquestionably working for him.

In the back of his mind, he’s got a vague awareness of what it means that they’re finally doing this, after all the waiting and wanting and anticipation. But in the forefront of his mind, he’s much more acutely aware of her fingers digging into his skin, the thrust of her hips against his, the way her body pulls him in. So he slides an arm under the small of her arched back and lets himself go, taking her right along with him.

Afterwards, he collapses onto his back next to her, and she curls into his chest. He’s not sure he’ll ever catch is breath. He can’t quite remember what breathing used to feel like _before_ anyway. He at least has the wherewithal to take her hand and squeeze it, and she squeezes back. It helps.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, pressing herself closer into him.

Jack knows the feeling, even if he can’t articulate it quite yet.

He runs his fingers softly across her shoulders for a while until his heart rate finally calms down, and by then, her breathing is steady and slow, her own hand still, splayed low on his abdomen.

“Can I stay?” he whispers. He’s pretty sure she’s drifted off, and he’s definitely sure he knows the answer, but he’s feeling self-indulgent, and he wants to hear her say it.

“Mmmm,” she hums into his shoulder. “You better stay.”

“I want to make you breakfast.” This seems very important to him for some reason. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want just sex with her. He wants sex and so, so much more.

She chuckles to herself as she shifts in his arms. “I don’t have any shallot salt.”

“I’ll come up with something,” he promises as he kisses her forehead one more time, just because he can.

She sighs contentedly and closes her eyes again. “You always do.”

—

Amy sleeps in the next morning, which is not at all surprising to Sam, given how late she’d stayed up the night before. It was her first night back in her house, her first night back with Sam, and they’d taken their time going through their bedtime routine, refamiliarizing themselves with each other, with what it feels like to be home.

Jack and Sam are already in the kitchen making breakfast by the time Amy wakes up. Jack is whisking up some waffle batter, an ancient waffle iron that belonged to Sam’s parents heating up on the counter, and Sam is taking small sips of her still-too-hot coffee when she hears the sound of Amy’s footsteps coming down the stairs. She turns in time to see Amy’s jaw drop and her eyes light up, and then she breaks into a run.

“Jack!”

Jack drops his whisk and scoops Amy up into his arms.

“You’re here!” she says, pulling back but keeping her face close to his. She’s wearing her pink flamingo pajamas and her curly hair is a big frizzy mess on top of her head. “I’m so happy you’re home!”

Sam smiles into her coffee and Jack pulls Amy in for another hug. “Me too, kiddo.”

“Mama said you were coming for breakfast.”

Jack pulls back again and turns to Sam with a glint in his eye. “Oh did she?” Technically, Sam had said he was _probably_ coming for breakfast, but that seems like a needless clarification at this point.

So Sam just offers him a small shrug and gives Amy a kiss. “Good morning, Amy Jane,” she says to her daughter.

Jack moves to set Amy down but she just clings to him tighter, so he adjusts her on his hip and holds onto her with one hand, while expertly pouring the batter into the waffle iron with the other. Sam loves how easily and unquestioningly he accommodates Amy. She loves how natural they are together, both of them, all three of them. She wants this, exactly this, every morning.

“Did you do a sleepover?”

Sam and Jack both freeze. They look at each other, and then back at Amy. “Yep,” Sam says evenly. “With me. In my room.”

“Wow,” Amy says. _Wow is right,_ Sam thinks. She looks over at Jack she can tell he’s making a real effort not to smirk.

“He’s going to be doing a lot of sleepovers here from now on,” Sam says. This is a new start for all three of them, and she wants to be as straight with Amy as possible about what to expect. They have nothing to hide, least of all from her.

Amy considers this. “Hey,” she says slowly, after some thought, “I know what would be a good idea. Maybe sometime Jack could do a sleepover with me!”

Sam sees a grin begin to spread across Jack’s face, because coming from a four year-old, this is pretty much the highest compliment. But if they’re setting expectations, then Sam wants to be clear.

“Oh no,” she says. “Just me.” They’ve got way too much time to make up for.

Amy narrows her eyes in a mock glare. “No, _me_ ,” she says.

“No, _me_ ,” Sam says, glaring right back.

By now, Jack is chuckling, and Amy and Sam start to laugh too. It’s the exact opposite of the few, awkward interactions they had in the weeks between the za’tarc incident and the ice planet, and it feels like such a relief. Jack pulls Sam in for a hug, and Amy hooks her free arm around Sam’s neck, the other already secure around Jack’s. Sam finally feels like she’s home.

“I love you,” Jack says quietly into Sam’s hair, and Sam’s breath catches, her eyes drift closed. She knows, of course, but it feels so good to hear him say it. It feels so good to have that freedom. Finally.

“I know,” she says. She squeezes him a little tighter and he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too.”

Sam feels herself start to tear up a little bit—they’ve come through so much to get to this moment—until she hears Amy pipe up. “No, _I_ love you.”

This of course make Jack start laughing again. The kid has his sense of humor dialed in.

“Are we going to stand around hugging all day, or does anyone want waffles?” Jack says.

Sam wonders if life can really be like this, if _their_ lives, for all they’ve seen and done, for all they’ve survived, can possible be so light and easy and happy.

Amy leans her forehead against Jack’s and looks him straight in the eye. “I want waffles.”

Sam and Amy take their seats at the kitchen table as Jack serves up the first round.

“Mama, I think I _do_ like your hair,” Amy says.

“Yeah?” Sam smiles.

“I think I love your hair,” Jack says.

She grins at him and then turns to the plate in front of her. It’s all too easy to remember their first meal together, just the three of them, around this kitchen table almost two years ago. She remembers chicken stir fry and toothbrushes and missing her mom so badly it hurt. She remembers Amy, so small but still so very much herself in ways Sam didn’t appreciate at the time. And she remembers him. She’d wanted to touch him then, but she couldn’t. She reaches out now and grabs his hand as he passes her the syrup.

They made it.

 

 


	35. Tangent

Jack hosts a Labor Day cookout. The end of their two-week leave aligns with the end of the summer, and as of tomorrow, he’s going back to work, Sam’s going back to different work, and Amy, for the first time ever, is going to preschool. He got a cake and everything.

“So, you and Sam, huh?” Daniel says, leaning against the railing of Jack’s deck, nursing a beer.

“Yep,” Jack says. No one ever did accuse Daniel of being subtle. Jack pokes at the burgers with his grilling fork; they’re almost ready to be flipped.

“Wow,” Daniel says. Jack tries not to roll his eyes, though for all the time he and Sam have both spent insisting to Daniel that they’re not together, perhaps this is only fair. “I’m happy for you guys, you know?”

Jack nods.

“I mean, you’re happy, right?”

“Yep,” Jack says. He thinks over the last two weeks, all the days they’ve spent together, and the nights. He’s been way more than happy. He’s been over the moon. He does his best, though, to keep a very straight face in front of Daniel.

“Good,” Daniel says. “That’s good.” His gaze turns to the lawn, where Amy is acquainting her cousins with all the coolest features of Jack’s yard. “They ever been here before?”

“Nope,” Jack says. His eyes find Heather, who’s talking to Janet and Cassie, and Mark, who seems to be conducting a not-so-covert investigation of the landscaping. Standing at the grill, Jack straightens a little, though he has no doubt that it will all pass muster. He takes great pride in his work. He’s just waiting for Mark to ask him what type of lawnmower he’s got.

Daniel is quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “So does all this mean you’re not retiring anymore?”

Jack presses his lips together. It’s time to flip these burgers. “Yep,” he says. Things have changed since Jack put in for retirement last spring. The fight against the System Lords has ratcheted up. Sam is stepping down from SG-1 but she isn’t walking away, and Jack just can’t ignore the part of him that feels like he helped pick this fight. He and Sam have talked about it a lot. He wants to see this through.

And the _second_ the last Goa’uld worth caring about is dead, he’s going to retire. For real. For good.

“Glad to hear it,” Daniel says. “I’d hate to have to break in another colonel.”

Before Jack has the chance to ask what, exactly, that’s supposed to mean, Sam and Teal’c emerge from the house, Sam with a platter of hamburger buns, and Teal’c with a plate full of sliced onions, tomatoes, pickles and lettuce. Sam lays a hand on Jack’s arm as she sets the tray of buns down next to him. They’re not overly touchy with each other in front of everyone, but it feels nice not to have to check this kind of impulse. He really loves touching her, in all the ways he now can.

“You ready for buns?” she says with a smile, and her cheeks instantly turn pink. Daniel snickers and even Teal’c seems amused.

“Carter, please,” Jack says, feigning offense. “Your brother is here!”

—

The first time SG-1 is unexpectedly summoned to the briefing room, Sam nearly joins them before she remembers that’s not her anymore. She stands awkwardly in the door to her lab and sees Daniel emerge from his office, looking frazzled and annoyed. He does a double take when he notices her, like it took him a second to remember too.

“Do you know what it’s about?” she asks as he approaches her on his way to the elevator. She’ll find out eventually, of course, but it’s hard not to know right away. She used to be the first to know everything.

“No, but it better be important,” Daniel says. “I was right in the middle of translating that cuneiform tablet we found on P30-255.”

Sam herself is in the middle of recalibrating MALP 3KA sensors. They’re sending a MALP out on long-term reconnaissance on P5X-327 as part of a new effort to expand the reach of the SGC using the fewest resources possible. It’s one of dozens of things she’s got lined up for herself to dig into now that she’s here, on base, working regular hours. She relishes this uninterrupted work time. But part of her also really, really misses the interruptions.

“Well, let me know if you need my help,” she says to Daniel.

“Oh,” he says. “Right. I’m sure we will. If we do.”

Sam sighs and turns back to her MALP sensors.

The meeting, she learns later, is about a whack-job out in Montana who knows way too much about the Stargate Program. Jack and the rest of Sam’s old team head out to Billings while Sam moves onto the next item on her list: the Death Glider. They’re calling it the X-301 Interceptor now, and General Vidrine, a three-star out of Washington, is coming to Colorado next week to see a test flight.

There’s been a buzz of excitement about the X-301 ever since the project launched, but Sam’s got a weird feeling about the whole thing. She doesn’t trust it, probably because she still doesn’t quite understand how it works. She wants to take the whole thing apart and put it back together one more time before they start showing it off. And now, as SG-1 races off without her, she’s got all the time in the world to do just that.

—

The whack-job in Montana turns out to be an actual alien, with a spaceship and everything, and SG-1’s quick trip turns into a three-night stay. Jack doesn’t get back until after midnight on Friday, but Sam had told him to come over anyway, so he does. Having a key to her place is not new, but using said key in the middle of the night so he can slip into bed with her, that’s very new indeed.

Sam stretches when he sits down on his side of the bed. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he’s got a _side_ in Carter’s bed. “Hey,” she says. Her eyes are closed and her voice is rough with sleep. He loves the sound of her voice when she’s sleepy.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over with a quick kiss to her cheek, “go back to sleep.” Then he lies down behind her, tucks one arm under her neck and wraps the other around her waist. She sighs contentedly, and Jack fights the urge to pinch himself. It’s been a long time since he’s come home to someone. He’d forgotten how nice it is. He knows he just told her to go back to sleep, but he presses a kiss to the back of her neck anyway, and it just so happens to be right exactly in that spot that always makes her gasp.

She’s sleepy enough that her gasp is more of a hum, though she seems to be quickly waking up. She arches her back a little, which puts her neck closer to his lips and her ass closer to parts of him that are also quickly waking up. So he kisses her in that same spot again, and before he knows it, his hand is up the front of her tank top, and her hand is reaching back to pull his boxers down.

He really, really wasn’t trying to wake her, but if she wants his clothes off, he’s not going to argue.

She gets rid of her own underwear next and this time she really does gasp when he pushes inside her. He still can’t quite believe that he’s allowed to do this, that this is something that happens in his life with increasing regularity.

Every time they have sex he discovers more about her, and right now, he’s captivated by the flex of the muscles in her shoulder as she clutches the pillow in front of her. She has incredibly sexy shoulders. He moves his hands deliberately over as much of her body as he can reach, never stilling, studying every dip and rise and plane, until it all becomes too much and he can’t hold a solid thought anymore, can’t hold onto anything except her.

He stays like that after they’re done, one arm under her neck and the other wrapped around her waist, holding on, until she turns in his arms and kisses him on the lips for the first time since he joined her in bed.

“I missed you,” she says.

“I missed you too,” he echoes. He kisses her eyebrows and her cheeks, and she sighs and closes her eyes again.

“Do you think we’ll ever get used to this?” she asks, her voice soft and easy.

“God, I hope so,” Jack says.

Her eyes pop back open and she gives him a funny look, one that makes him reconsider what he just said.

“I mean,” he says, choosing his words more carefully now, “I’m looking forward to doing a whole lot more of this kind of thing.”

“Mmm,” she agrees. She closes her eyes again and settles with her head on the crook of his shoulder. “Me too.”

—

The next morning, Jack brings Sam coffee in bed. He knows it’ll be a while before Amy wakes up; she’s a few weeks into her new stint as a preschooler, and she loves it, but all the running around and socializing with people who aren’t her cousins really wears her out. Jack, however, is wired to rise with the sun, no matter how much running or socializing he’s done. Sam, he’s learning, is the same way.

She sits up in bed, leaning against the headboard, cradling her coffee in her hands and inhaling deeply. He watches the movement of the muscles in her shoulder with fascination as she raises the mug to her lips. He can’t believe how completely he failed to appreciate the sexiness potential of shoulders until now.

He tries to take a sip of his own coffee but it’s still way too hot for him, even though his has cream and hers is black. “So. What did I miss?”

“Hmm. Amy’s got a new song about lining up to wash your hands for snack time.” Sam’s voice is low and groggy with sleep, in a way that Jack doesn't think he'll ever get enough of.

“Huh,” Jack replies. “Does that come up a lot?”

Sam smiles and rolls her eyes a little. “You’d be surprised.”

“Can’t wait to hear it,” Jack says, and he means it. Kids learn the weirdest things in preschool. Jack loves weird things. “Charlie had this song about remembering to flush the toilet. It was so catchy.”

Sam chuckles and takes another sip of her coffee, though Jack still finds his undrinkablely hot. “And her best friend is Maggie now.”

“Maggie? What happened to Everett?”

“I think Everett wanted to paint one day, and Amy wanted to play with the blocks, and Maggie was playing with the blocks.”

“Wow,” Jack says, “too bad for Everett.” He blows on his coffee a little. It really just needs a minute, but Sam is making hers look so good, he wants to drink it right _now_.

“And we had to scrap the X-301.”

“What?” Jack sits up straight and nearly spills his coffee all over the sheets.

“I found a booby trap,” she says with a shrug. “We can’t work around it. I don’t even want to use that thing for parts anymore.”

“But…” Jack says, grasping, “but I didn’t get to fly it yet.” He knows he’s whining, but he’d really been looking forward to taking that Death Glider out for a spin.

“No, and you won’t, not unless you want to end up stranded in a dead ship somewhere between here and Apophis’ home world.”

Apophis. That asshole. He always ruins everything.

“I go out of town for three days,” Jack grumbles.

“Yes,” she says. “Without me. I was bored. And I just might have saved your life, you know.” Jack rolls his eyes, though he supposes it’s good she found the booby trap or whatever.

“We’re moving up the timetable on the 302,” she continues. “I finally understand how that Death Glider worked. We’re going to build it ourselves, no Goa’uld tech.”

He peeks at her out of the corner of his eye. “Can I fly this one?”

“You can be the first in line.”

—

It’s mid-October when one of Daniel’s former colleagues dies, so he takes some leave and heads out to Chicago for the funeral. Hammond gives what’s left of SG-1 some leave too, and he doesn’t bat an eye when the newest member of the science department requests personal leave of her own.

They fly from Denver to Minneapolis-St Paul because a 17-hour road trip is decidedly less fun for a four year-old than it is for adults, and because they’ve only got a week. Jack promises that next time, they’ll make a trip of it, plan ahead and get two weeks off, take the scenic route and see the sights along the way. Sam loves that he’s already talking about next time, even if it’s highly unlikely they’d be able to swing that much leave with a war going on.

It’s been over three years since Amy’s first and only airplane flight, the one that brought her and Sam from DC to Colorado and the Stargate Program. Amy doesn’t remember it at all, but Sam does. She remembers trying to project confidence while juggling a stroller, a small suitcase, a diaper bag, and a confused barely one year-old. She smiles now at the sight of Jack and Amy, hand-in-hand, pulling their carry-ons behind them as they stride to their gate.

“I’ve never been on an airplane before,” Amy tells Jack excitedly.

“I’ve been on tons of airplanes,” Jack says. “You’ll love it.” They’re sitting at their gate now, gazing out the window at the jet airliners taxiing slowly by.

“Is this the _best_ airplane?”

“Um,” Jack looks out the window at the hulking Boeing-777 that will carry them to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes, and then he shoots a glance over at Sam, who rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. They both hate flying commercial. “It’s definitely up there.”

Jack acts like an excited puppy the entire trip, until the moment they stop their rental car at the end of a quarter-mile dirt driveway, in front of his cabin. He steps out of the car and takes a deep breath and Sam can practically see a sense of calm settle over him. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen on him before. Around them, the air is crisp and the trees are splashed with the bright colors of fall in the gentle golden light of evening. Sam takes in the pond, the dock, the small wooden boat, and the cabin itself. It’s exactly what she pictured, but so much more. She feels herself take a deep breath too.

Amy, however, is still in excited puppy mode. “We’re here!” she shouts. “Oh boy! We’re finally here!”

—

Their first morning at the cabin, Jack wakes up to an empty bed. He shuffles down the hall and follows faint noises to the kitchen, wishing he’d taken a second to put on a pair of socks or something. The floors are colder up here.

When he gets to the kitchen, he sees Sam with her back to him, pouring water in the coffee maker. She hits the button to turn it on, and Jack leans against the doorframe, feeling a rush of warmth at the sight of her, at home in his cabin. It’s an almost overwhelming sense of rightness, because this is exactly what he’s been dreaming of, all this time. He could stand here and watch her all day.

But then Sam puts a small mug of milk in the microwave and moves to hit the start button on that too. Jack leaps forward and Sam startles, spinning around fast and nearly smacking him in the face.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing her arm and lowering it gently, “you can’t run the microwave and the coffee pot at the same time. It’ll blow the fuse.”

She exhales and leans her head against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and he can feel her heart pounding. “Good morning,” he adds. “Sorry I startled you.”

Sam just shakes her head and then pulls back, looping her own arms around his waist. “All this time… if you’ve been trying to get me to the cabin to rewire it, you could’ve just said so.”

—

He teaches Amy how to fish. It’s not magnet fishing or Go Fish or anything else, it’s actual fishing. Sort of.

She’s a natural, of course. It might not seem all that impressive, initially, since fishing in a pond with no fish mostly requires doing nothing. But doing nothing is actually pretty hard for a four year-old.

Jack has explained to Amy how to set the hook—though they don’t use any bait—how to cast the line, how to tell when they’ve caught something, and how they would theoretically reel one in. Most importantly, he tells her about the water, about what does live in there, and about the other animals of the forest that he sees around here, the red fox and the porcupines and the occasional great horned owl. He tells her about the trees and how they change during the seasons. He tells her how deep the snow gets on the far side of the pond when the wind blows drifts.

She sits quietly next to him, in Charlie’s old folding chair, holding Charlie’s old fishing pole, the purple hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her curly blond hair. The way she’s gazing out at the pond, Jack thinks she really does get it.

He takes a deep breath.

“Have you ever heard me and your mom talk about someone named Charlie?”

“Yep,” she says, her eyes not leaving the pond.

“Do you know who he is?”

She turns to face him. “Is he the boy in your house? In the pictures?”

Jack nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s Charlie.” He swallows. “He was my son.”

Amy is quiet for a moment, thoughtful, and then she asks, “Where did he go?”

“He died.”

Amy nods. “My Nana died.”

“I know.”

Amy is quiet again and then she asks, “Are you sad?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I miss him every day.” Every single day, for over four years now, but it’s not the torment it used to be, when memories of Charlie were so clouded with guilt and pain that Jack felt like he was being haunted. Now, things are different, thanks in no small part to this kid right here. “You remind me of him sometimes.”

“I do?”

“Not all the time. But you like a lot of the same things he liked.”

Amy thinks about this. “Did Charlie like to fish?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “He used to fish here with me. That was his fishing pole.”

“Really?” Amy looks at the pole in her hands like she’s seeing it for the first time. “Did he ever catch any fish?”

“No,” Jack says, nudging her with his elbow. “Remember? There are no fish in this pond.”

“Oh yeah,” Amy replies.

They fall quiet again, and there’s nothing to be heard but the wind rustling through trees and water lapping very gently against the dock. He knows she’ll have more to ask about Charlie later, but for now, this is a good start.

“Jack?” she says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Is this real fishing, or pretend fishing?”

“Hm,” Jack says. “I guess it’s kind of both.”

“Ok,” Amy says.

“If you want to go real fishing, there’s a bigger lake not far from here. A friend of mine’s got a boat we could use.”

“Nah,” Amy says, “I like this the best.”

Jack smiles and relaxes into his chair. He likes this the best too.

—

Their last night at the cabin, Amy and Sam make Jack a birthday cake from a box mix. Amy arranges a dozen or so candles in the shape of a smiley face, and douses the whole thing in way more sprinkles than is strictly necessary. It’s not quite his birthday yet, but it’s close enough, and Sam was right when she suggested that it might be more fun to celebrate here.

They light the candles and sing the song and Jack takes a deep breath and blows them all out.

“Did you make a wish?” Sam asks, her eyes sparkling.

Jack just grins. He hooks one arm around her and the other around Amy and pulls them both in. “No,” he says. He kisses the top of her head, and then Amy’s. What else could he possibly wish for?

—

When they get home, they find they’ve both missed a couple dozen phone calls from the SGC. Apparently one of Daniel’s old girlfriends is now host to the Goa’uld Osiris. But it sounds like Daniel and Teal’c had the whole thing under control. Mostly.

—

For Halloween, Amy says she wants to be an astronaut, and she gets mad when Sam and Jack both fail in their attempts not to laugh at this. She decides she wants to be a planet instead. She picks Pluto, and Sam says—out loud and in front of Amy—that she never understood why Pluto got classified as a planet. Jack rolls his eyes and Amy gets mad all over again.

Then she decides she wants to be an airplane.

“That’s perfect!” Jack says. “I can be a pilot.” Jack is going to take Amy trick-or-treating this year while Sam hands out candy at home.

Amy grins, and Sam and Jack do too. This is the furthest they’ve made it without one or both of them accidentally pissing her off.

“I’ve got the best costume already,” Jack adds.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” he insists.

“You can’t wear your uniform trick or treating,” she says calmly.

“Says who!” Jack replies, and Amy joins him in glaring at Sam.

“Says the US military.”

“Oh come on,” Jack throws his hands up in the air. “Who’s going to know?”

Sam looks unimpressed. “Everyone. Half this town is Air Force.” It’s an exaggeration, but not by much.

“Ok, but who’s going to tell?”

The look she gives him lets him know that he’d better not pursue that line of inquiry any further.

The next weekend, just a couple days before Halloween, Jack takes Amy costume shopping. She’s sticking with her airplane idea, but unfortunately, her options are limited. There’s a boxy airplane contraption thing that hangs off your shoulders, or there are wings that strap onto your arms. They decide it would be easy and way more fun to just make something at home. They’ve definitely got enough cardboard boxes to pull off whatever they need.

But the single adult-sized pilot costume this store has on the rack is exactly what Jack was hoping for.

When they get back home, Amy and Jack cut airplane wings out of cardboard, paint them in roughly matching rainbows, and run yarn around them so they can strap the whole thing over her shoulders. It’s kind of minimalist, as costumes go, but Amy seems pleased, and it will fit nicely over her winter coat, which is the most important part.

They don their new team Halloween costumes and model them for Sam. She oohs and aahs appropriately over Amy’s rainbow airplane wings. Then she turns her attention to Jack. His pilot costume consists of a short-sleeved polyester fake dress shirt with the tie sewed on, and oversized embroidered patches on the shoulders. The blue polyester of the hat outshines the dull yellow-gold pilot wings that are glued on the front, ever so slightly off-center. Already, it’s making his head itch. He’s thrown on a pair of cheap aviator sunglasses, for a finishing touch.

Sam runs a finger along the hem of his awkwardly drooping collar and tugs at his barely attached fake tie.

“This is nice,” she says.

“You think?”

“Oh yes,” she confirms. “I always did love a man in uniform.”

—

“She’s not going to forget about the Halloween candy this year,” Jack mutters quietly to Sam as Amy dumps her haul out onto the kitchen table when she and Jack get home from trick or treating.

“I know,” Sam says. Amy remembers everything these days. She listens to everything too, takes it all in, and then months later, she’ll bring it up when you least expect it, word for word. It’s impressive and a little bit scary.

“Then I guess there’s only one thing to do,” Jack says.

“What’s that?” Sam replies, as Amy begins sorting her candy into piles.

“Help her eat it.”

—

When December rolls around, Sam invites Jack to spend Christmas Eve with her and Amy at Mark and Heather’s house, but Jack declines.

“Carter, guys like me are very busy on Christmas Eve, you know.” He grins and Amy giggles but Sam just rolls her eyes, though she is smiling.

“It would save you a trip.”

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about,” Jack replies.

He shows up early on Christmas morning though, before the kids are up, in time for stockings and presents and cinnamon rolls. Sam cherishes the quiet smile on his face as the kids get excited over the big box of gifts from grandpa. She’s grateful he finally gets to see, first-hand, how happy he makes these kids.

Later that afternoon, they go back to Sam and Amy’s house, and over the fireplace are three stockings Sam has never seen before, one for each of them, hung in a row.

Sam’s mouth falls open in surprise as Amy starts jumping up and down. “Santa came to our house too!” she says excitedly. “He never came here before!”

“Well, what do you know,” Jack says, rocking back on his heels, that same small smile on his face. Sam turns her gaze to him and he just shrugs.

“It must be because we did a tree this year,” Amy surmises. It’s the first time since Jane died that they put up a Christmas tree in this house.

“You did all this?” Sam says quietly to Jack as Amy starts unpacking her stocking.

“Wasn’t me,” he says back to her, but he’s grinning like he just can’t help it.

—

In January, Mark and Heather announce that they’re pregnant. Sam gives her sister-in-law a big hug and hates the part of herself that quietly but persistently wonders what this will mean for Amy. She won’t even acknowledge the part of herself that wants to curl up in a ball and cry.

“They’re due in July,” she tells Jack later that evening, after Amy’s gone to bed. She’s trying to project a casual air, like she cares about this just the right amount.

Jack tilts his head a little and looks at her like he’s seeing right through her facade. “That’s great,” he says evenly, and he doesn’t say anything else at all. He just waits, quietly, for her to be ready to say more.

“Did you and Sara ever talk about having more kids?”

Jack nods slowly. “We did,” he says. “Before Charlie was born. But then after he came along, I think it was just too much. I was gone all the time.” He shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “We didn’t really talk about it again.”

Sam takes a deep breath and forces herself to just say it. “I can’t have kids. Anymore.” It’s one of many ways in which Jolinar left her mark. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner. You deserve to know.” She bites her lip and fights back images that will never be hers: Jack cradling a newborn child; Jack with a burp cloth thrown over his shoulder and a tiny baby asleep on his chest. He should have that again, if he wants it. He deserves that much.

Jack furrows his brow and looks at her intently for a long moment. Finally, he speaks. “Sam. Don’t ever think you’re anything less than everything I ever dreamed of.”

—

The winter is dark but not too cold. On clear nights when they’re at Jack’s house, he takes Amy up on the roof after dinner with a thermos of hot chocolate and a flannel blanket and they spend some time seeing what they can see in the night sky above: Jupiter with its colorful bands, the Orion Nebula shining bright, and the moon, full of craters, rills and domes that Amy is eager to learn all about. He buys her a kid’s book about astronomy with lots of pictures, and extra small fingerless gloves, so she can better adjust the magnification on the eyepiece of the telescope by herself.

The guest room is officially Amy’s now, with a fluffy comforter to match the butterfly sheets Jack has had for years, and all the other comforts of her room at her own house.

One night, after Amy has been sleeping for a couple hours, and Jack and Sam are in bed—Jack with his head between Sam’s legs—they hear a small voice. “Mama? Jack?”

They both freeze. Then Sam grabs frantically for a blanket, and Jack’s eyes snap to the door. It’s still firmly shut. Then he remembers: the monitor. They’ve got a monitor at this house too. Oh, thank god.

“I need you!” Amy says.

Sam looks like she’s about to hyperventilate, so Jack grabs the monitor, takes a deep breath, and presses the talk button. “Hey, Amy. What’s up?”

“I can’t find my bunny!” she says plaintively.

Jack looks up at Sam, who’s naked and flushed and in no shape for paying Amy a visit. Then he looks down at himself. He’s in no shape for it either.

“Did you check the floor?”

He hears a rustle of blankets and then, “I found him!”

Sam and Jack both breathe a sigh of relief.

“Think you’ll be able to go back to sleep now?” Jack says, trying not to sound so hopeful that Amy gets suspicious.

“Yep!” Amy chirps. “Goodnight!”

Sam and Jack wait in silence for a full minute, him on his knees between her legs, her with a blanket thrown hastily over half her body. Finally, Jack speaks. “Did that totally kill the mood?”

“Oh, god,” Sam says, “I hope not.”

—

At the end of February, they celebrate Cassie’s birthday. It’s hard to say when, exactly, her birthday would’ve been on Hanka, but the end of February is when Cassie came to Earth, so it makes as much sense as anything to put her birthday here. Janet has a big party with lots of cake. Cassie is 14 now, and she’ll be in high school next year. Jack gets her an Xbox and tells her that if she wants to be a high schooler on Planet Earth, she needs to learn how to play video games.

At the beginning of March, Jack and Sam and Amy make chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes for dinner to celebrate what would’ve been Charlie’s 14th birthday. Amy suggests cake too, but for once in his life, Jack thinks that might be too much. Instead, they have cookie dough ice cream with hot fudge, and Jack thinks Charlie would’ve approved. It feels good, after years of studiously ignoring March 5, to do something to mark his son’s birthday. It feels like a relief.

—

As winter turns into spring and Amy inches closer to five years old, her vocabulary expands by the day. She’s now flawlessly incorporating all sorts of grown-up words, some of which Jack can barely spell. In fact, her vocabulary is large enough that Jack thinks it’s really time to start moving on to something more complicated, like idioms, or Minnesotan colloquialisms.

She looks down at her cup of milk at dinner one night and scrunches up her face. “There’s some particulate in my milk.”

Jack leans forward and peers into the cup. “Looks like broccoli.”

“I don’t like particulate,” she says.

Jack shrugs. “You know what they say about people who live in glass houses, don’t you?”

“Glass houses? No. What do they say?”

“People who live in glass houses… shouldn’t blow bubbles in their milk when they’ve got a mouth full of broccoli.”

Amy makes a face at him. “Sometimes you say weird things.”

Her obsession with stories has not waned either, and these days, more often than not, Amy herself is the one doing the storytelling. She weaves together stories she’s heard before with different aspects of her own life in creative, unpredictable ways, though at least half of her tales seem to involve a dragon of one kind or another.

One morning, she tells Sam and Jack that she figured out Beauty and the Beast. She proceeds to tell them the brief but striking tale of a young woman named Belle, who learns how to travel back in time and warns the young prince that he better be nice to the old woman who comes to his castle seeking refuge.

At the mention of time travel, Sam and Jack both look up sharply.

“Wasn’t me,” Jack says.

“Me neither,” Sam says.

“You guys!” Amy moans. “You’re supposed to be paying attention!”

—

Sam still gets to go off-world, on rare occasions. She only travels to safe planets where the SGC has an established presence and her unique expertise is required. She visits Cimmeria twice. The provisions of the Protected Planets Treaty prevent the Asgard from telling her how Thor’s Hammer works, but nothing prevents her from trying to figure it out on her own.

She thinks of herself all those years ago, stupefied by this advanced technology like a child watching a magician pull a rabbit from a hat. Now, she knows how to locate the access panel just behind the portal. She removes the panel and studies the crystals that control and power the device. She takes pictures and videos; she makes notes and sketches. She’s familiar with Asgard technology now, and she’s learning more with every week that passes.

The higher-ups try to keep her out of danger, though going off-world always entails a certain amount of risk, no matter how stable the planet. In April, she takes a cadet from the academy to M4C-862, where Jack and Teal’c are checking in on a team of scientists. Jack had told her the planet was boring, but it ends up being a closer call than anyone could’ve predicted. It’s both a rush and a reminder of why she usually stays Earth-side.

—

Sometimes, simply being at the SGC is dangerous enough. Sam is in the control room one Friday in early May when they dial P9C-372, and some kind of sentient entity makes its way back to Earth, piggybacking on the MALP telemetry. It takes over the computers, it takes over the SGC, and then it takes over Sam herself.

Jack picks Amy up from her cousins’ house on Monday night. Heather opens the door for him, and Jack is not all that surprised to see Mark hovering just inside. Amy has spent the last three nights here, something she used to do all the time but hasn’t done in a while.

“Hey,” Jack says. He’s been here plenty of times before, but never without Sam. If it weren’t for Amy, he would still be sitting in the infirmary, waiting by Sam’s bedside, just in case.

“How’s she doing?” Mark says.

“She’s improving,” Jack says. Improving after he shot and killed her.

Mark nods. “She coming home soon?”

Jack nods. “Couple more days, they think.”

“I thought this sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen anymore.”

And there it is. Jack would take offense at Mark’s accusatory tone if he didn’t already blame himself for this.

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “Me too.”

Amy chooses that moment to come zipping around the corner. She slams into Jack’s legs and hugs him tightly.

“You want to stay for dinner?” Heather asks, and Jack politely pretends to think about it for a second, though the answer is an unequivocal no.

“I wanna go home _now_ ,” Amy says. Jack ruffles her hair and hopes Heather won’t be offended.

Jack takes Amy home and cooks spaghetti for dinner. On Mondays, Amy gets a bath, so Jack runs the water and helps Amy into the tub. He washes her hair, then dips her head back to rinse the shampoo. Amy closes her eyes and tips up her chin, and Jack runs his fingers through her hair and thinks of Sam, closing her eyes and falling to the floor as he zats her a second time.

When the bath is done, Amy spends a great deal of time picking out her pajamas, and then she looks up at Jack and says, “Can I sleep in your guys’ bed with you?”

So he tucks her into Sam’s big bed, turns out the lights, and lays down next to her.

“I miss mama,” Amy says.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Me too.”

“She’ll be home soon, right?”

“You bet.” He kisses her forehead and pulls the covers up over her shoulders. “Good night.”

Amy closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep and Jack spends a long time watching her and trying not to think about what kind of conversation they would be having if Sam hadn’t made it through this time.

By Wednesday, Sam starts asking Janet when she can leave, which Jack takes as a very good sign, and by Friday, Janet gives her the go-ahead. Jack takes her home and she says she’s fine, though he can see how quickly she fatigues. Dinner with Amy is good but it takes a lot out of her. Jack plants Sam on the couch while he does Amy’s bedtime routine, as he’s been doing all week. Then he runs a bath, and helps Sam up the stairs, out of her clothes and into the tub.

The water is warm and the room is filled with steam as he runs a sponge over her arms and legs. She probably doesn’t need his help with this part, but he wants so badly to be doing something to make this better.

He lays in bed with her that night and stares at her sleeping form. He knows, cognitively, that the entity thing wasn’t his fault. He knows he did what she would’ve wanted him to do. And he knows that this isn’t about him anyway, and his panic over what it felt like to nearly lose her. But still.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” she says.

Jack startles a little; he’d thought she was asleep. “Me?” People so rarely accuse him of thinking at all.

She smiles and then opens her eyes. “Stop worrying,” she says. “I’ll be fine.” She reaches out and takes his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and when she starts to shake her head, he clarifies. “I’m sorry it was you.” It was because of Jack that the entity picked Sam in the first place, because it knew he cared about her enough to do anything to keep her alive.

“I know.” She gives his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry it was you,” she says back, and he knows what she means. _He_ was the one who followed the entity out of the infirmary, _he_ was the one with a zat in his hand. It could’ve been anyone on base, but it was him.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The bedroom is dark, but he can make out her face in the quiet, soft light of the moon coming in through the window. He looks into her eyes, so blue and concerned and _alive_ , and he can’t bear to think about what it would’ve done to him if she hadn’t made it.

“I thought I lost you this time,” he says in a whisper.

“Not a chance,” she says, though of course they both know she had no control over how the entity reacted. Still, it helps to hear her say it. She closes her eyes again and Jack moves closer so he can put his arms around her. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Jack closes his eyes too and feels the rise and fall of her chest as her breath evens out. Sleep is a long time coming, but right now, being awake and next to her feels better anyway.

—

It’s another week before Sam is back in fighting form. At Janet’s insistence, Jack stays home with her, even when it becomes clear that him trying to do everything for her is more annoying than helpful. But he likes how easily they fall into a routine, with Jack dropping Amy off at school and picking her up. He wonders when he’ll be able to start dreaming again of a future where this is the norm, and not the temporary result of a near-death experience. He’s spent every night of the last two weeks here, stopping by his own place only long enough to check the mail. He doesn’t miss that other house one bit.

A week is a long time for either one of them to be on downtime, but as Sam’s strength returns, they find ways to keep themselves occupied.

Jack stands with is back against a wall, and Sam’s back against his chest. He wraps his arms around her tightly. “Like this?” he asks.

“Mmm,” she says. “A little higher.”

Jack adjusts his grip but kisses that spot on her neck that makes her knees give out a little. “Really? I was thinking lower.” He lets one hand drop down her torso and tease the hem of her underwear.

Sam laughs but doesn’t stop him, she just presses herself farther into him. “Lower is good too.”

“Ok,” Jack says into her ear. “What next?” He’s finding this whole exercise to be a lot of fun.

“Just like this,” she says. “With your mouth right by my ear.”

Jack grins and nips her earlobe, and she shudders.

“Oh my god,” she says. “We were in Hathor’s compound, the Jaffa were looking for us, and I just wanted to…”

“To what?” Jack slips his hand a little lower and Sam groans. Then she shifts and spins him around, pushing him onto the bed and crawling up on top of him.

“To do this,” she says.

Later, they’re lying on their backs in bed, catching their breath.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember all that stuff at Hathor’s compound,” she says.

“Oh, I remember stuff,” he says. “I remember that silver blanket thing they had laying over you.”

“We all had a silver blanket thing.”

“I know,” Jack replies. “But yours is the only one I... remember.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Those things were weird. I wonder what they were made of.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to chuckle. “That’s definitely _not_ what I wondered.”

—

By late May, the weather is already hot. Heat like this would be annoying at the end of summer, but now, as summer is just arriving, it feels exciting and full of promise.

Sam and Jack bug out of work early on a Friday. They ride together to pick up Amy, and when they get to Mark and Heather’s, the kids are running around in the backyard squirting each other with squirt guns.

Sometimes, Jack is prepared for the ways in which parenting Amy reminds him of Charlie. And sometimes he’s not prepared at all.

He doesn’t say anything, but the color drains from his face and he goes completely still for a long, long moment before recovering enough to greet Amy. They go home, eat dinner quietly, put Amy to bed, and only after Amy’s sleeping does Jack take a deep breath and ask Sam if she keeps any guns in the house.

She doesn’t, of course she doesn’t, why would someone with her level of skill in hand-to-hand combat need to keep a deadly weapon in her house, one that could be used against her as easily as it could be used by her?

That weekend, Sam and Amy hit up the toy store, and when Sam and Jack pick up Amy after work on Monday, Amy and her cousins are running around in the backyard, soaked to the skin, each wearing a toy firefighter’s pack and dousing each other with the attached toy hoses. Next to Sam, Jack slumps in relief. She wraps her arms around his waist and kisses his shoulder. When he recovers, he gives Amy a hug and gets his shirt all wet.

—

The night before Amy’s fifth birthday party, Sam and Jack sit out on the deck, staring up at the starry night sky and bracing themselves. Jack tries to imagine what the place will look like swarmed with most of Amy’s preschool classmates and their parents, plus her cousins, the Fraisers, and SG-1, of course. Then he tries to forget.

“Next year, we should have a separate party, just for family, so we can actually have fun.”

He sees a smile spread across Sam’s face, even as she disagrees with him. “We’ll have fun with Amy’s friends and their parents.”

Jack takes a sip of his beer and then shakes his head. “I’ve done the five year-old birthday party thing. Amy will have fun. But we won’t even know what hit us.” It’ll probably help that they’re going to be outdoors. Charlie’s birthday parties had been indoor affairs. Jack has memories of Charlie laughing and two dozen children screaming and Sara throwing back a couple more ibuprofen.

Sam seems to consider this. “Ok,” she says. “If things go FUBAR tomorrow and we get separated, let’s rendezvous back here in 24 hours.”

“It’s a plan,” Jack agrees. He holds out his beer bottle and Sam clinks hers against his. “All I’m saying is, enjoy the peace while you can.”

They fall quiet. Jack finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle on the small table between them. Sam is still staring up at the stars, but he finds his gaze drawn to her. For all the things he’s seen out there, through a telescope or in person, there’s nothing quite as striking as her.

After a while, she must feel his eyes on her, because she turns and quirks her eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, straightening up a little. “I was just thinking… it would be a good night for the telescope.”

“Hm,” she hums in agreement. “You should bring it over here.”

Jack nods. Most of the rest of his stuff is already over here anyway, at least the stuff he considers important. It’s been a long, slow migration that started with paint rollers and drop cloths, long before Sam ever left SG-1. “You think we could put an observation deck on the roof?”

Sam smiles back at him. “I think we could figure something out.” Then she shakes her head and turns back to the stars. “This is ridiculous. You should really just move in.”

“You think so?” Jack says, though he’s been waiting for her to bring it up. And he’s been quietly getting his house ready to put on the market—he got the carpets shampooed, he updated the fixtures in the master bathroom, he even finally painted over Amy’s artwork on the wall in the guest bedroom, however reluctantly. He likes that house; it’s been good to him. But it will always be the house he moved to when Charlie died, the house that was only his. He’s ready to leave that house behind.

“And we should really get married.” She peeks at him out of the corner of her eye, and Jack gives her a thoughtful look.

“Ok.”

“Ok?” she says.

He shrugs. “Ok.” Then he sits up and grabs her now-empty beer bottle, sitting next to his on the table. “You want another one of these?” He wonders if she’s going to let him get away with this. He’s working very hard to seem as casual as possible right now.

She nods, looking amused, and he goes into the house, making a quick detour upstairs before swinging through the kitchen on his way back outside. He’s got two bottles of beer in one hand, and a small, black velvet box in the other.

He hands her the box instead of the beer and she looks up at him in surprise. “What’s this?”

He gives her a small smile. “What does it look like?”

She stands now too, holding the box tightly in her fingers. “But how did you…? I mean, I just said…”

“Carter,” he says, gently laying his hands on top of hers. “Open it.”

She does, and when she sees the ring inside, tears spring to her eyes. “This was my mom’s,” she says, and her voice is almost a whisper. “How…?”

Jack swallows hard against tears of his own and tries but mostly fails to shrug casually. He’d planned on playing it cooler than this. “Dad owed me a favor.”

“Dad?” she gasps. “What? When?” It’s true that it’s been quite a while since they’ve seen Jacob.

“We talked last summer,” Jack says. “When he was in town after the whole… Replicators thing.”

Her eyes go wide, and Jack can practically hear her trying to wrap her mind around the timeline. “But… we weren’t even together then,” she says.

Jack laughs softly. Technically, she’s right, maybe. But Jack has been dreaming of a future with her since long before then.

“What can I say? I’m a man of vision.”

“All this time,” she says. She’s looking at the ring now, and he wonders if she sees her mother. He hopes it’s ok. He thinks Jane would’ve wanted Sam to have it.

“Do you want me to get down on one knee or something?”

Her eyes snap up to his. “No, god.” She slips the ring on her finger and it’s perfect, just like Jack knew it would be. Then she wrap her arms around him and says, “Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who asked you first.”

Jack just smiles, tucks his head into her neck, and presses his body tightly against hers. He can’t help but remember the day they first met, how they'd walked up to the Stargate together for the first time and she’d promised him he’d grow to like her. They have been on so many adventures since that day, and Jack has a feeling that this might be the greatest one yet.

 

 


	36. Last Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this fic would cover seasons 1-4, but this chapter takes place in season 5, during the events of Summit and Last Stand.

They kill Apophis, and finally, it sticks.

But the threat of the Goa’uld is not gone, not quite. There’s a handful of System Lords left, pesky little egomaniacal System Lords who happen to control a huge amount of weapons and troops. So the SGC watches and waits, for the right opportunity to strike and the right weapon to wield.

Sam and Jack watch and wait too. They keep their engagement mostly quiet, even from Amy. The peskiest thing about these last few System Lords is that they’ve driven every available Tok’ra operative into long-term, deep undercover missions. One Tok’ra in particular—the would-be father of the bride—has been completely impossible to reach.

Neither Sam nor Jack is interested in a big to-do for their wedding; they want cake and family, and the friends who might as well be family. It’s a short enough list of demands that they decide they’d rather wait than compromise.

But as weeks turn into months, it gets harder and harder shake the feeling that the only way to free up Jacob Carter’s schedule is to defeat the Goa’uld and end the war for good.

—

In the end, it’s Amy who figures it out. All those bedtime stories seem to have finally paid off.

It’s a Saturday in September, and Amy and Jack have built adjacent forts on the living room floor with couch cushions. Sam is sitting on the cushion-less couch, her feet tucked under her and her laptop in front of her. She’s reviewing her latest schematics on Thor’s Hammer while Jack and Amy cast magic spells by throwing crumpled up pieces of construction paper at each other.

“Yes!” Amy laughs as Jack takes a green piece of construction paper right in his chest. “Gotcha! You’re a frog now!”

Sam has spent so much time studying the hammer device itself, the actual mechanism that kills the Goa’uld while leaving the host intact, that she feels fairly certain she’d be able to build one of her own. But she’s also starting to understand how implementing something like this might be prohibitively difficult, maybe even impossible.

On the floor, Jack the Frog ribbits and lobs a piece of orange paper at Amy. “Gotcha back! You’re a wolf!” he says. Amy drops to the floor and gives her best wolf howl.

The biggest problem is that Sam can’t figure out how to power the hammer. She’d need a tremendous amount of energy, way more than she’s currently able to generate with even her largest naquadah reactor. She’s had to admit that her long-held dream of a Thor’s Hammer raygun—or any kind of mobile weapon made from this device—is just not meant to be.

Wolf Amy throws the orange paper back at Jack, and he shifts a little bit to the right so the paper makes contact with his arm. “You’re a wolf now too!” Amy declares. “We’re a pack of wolves!”

Then there’s the issue of the transporter that the Asgard use. With a raygun off the table, the SGC would have to find some way to capture and contain their enemies to make this weapon worth building. The Asgard seem to have transporters everywhere you look, but Sam feels like even at her most optimistic, she’s years away from understanding that technology, let alone recreating it.

“Ok, we’re done with spells now,” Amy says, standing up and kicking aside a few crumpled pieces of paper. “It’s time for lunch! You should come to my fort.”

And then there’s the not-so-small issue of testing. Even if Sam were to build and power a theoretical model, and somehow capture the System Lords or otherwise compel them to pass through it, there’s really no way to test it first.

“Great,” Jack says. “What are we having?”

But Amy doesn’t answer, she just watches him closely as he crawls through the box they’re using as a tunnel to link their forts. It’s an easy fit for Amy, but kind of a squeeze for Jack. Once he’s all the way through, he sits back on his knees and Amy jumps up and points at him.

“Ha!” she says, delighted. “I tricked ya!”

“What?” Jack looks around, and Amy points to the tunnel, where a black piece of construction paper has been crumpled up and taped to the top of the box.

“I taped the last spell to the door and you just bonked it!” Amy has been into tape lately; it’s not surprising that she would have some stashed in her fort. “Now you’re a mosquito! Forever!”

Amy cackles at her victory, but Sam sits up straight on the couch. “Can we do that?”

“Do what?” Jack says, turning to Sam.

Sam’s mind is racing. “Tape the magic spell to the door?” The gate could power the hammer. Any gate. Sam can’t believe she never thought of that before.

“I already did it,” Amy says, looking a little annoyed. “And you can’t change him back because the game is done and it’s time for pretend lunch.”

But Jack is still looking at Sam. He cocks his head to the side a bit. “I know what magic spells _we’re_ talking about, but what magic spell are _you_ talking about?”

“The hammer,” she says, practically breathless. “We could tape the hammer to the gate.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “We have that kind of tape?”

“Sure,” Sam says. That’s the easy part, relatively speaking.

“ _I_ have the tape,” Amy says, stomping her foot. “It’s my tape in my fort and now Jack is _my_ mosquito because I did a spell.”

Jack stands up and steps easily over the cushion wall of Amy’s fort, which does nothing to dispel her growing frustration. “I’ll be back in a sec,” Jack says to Amy, his eyes locked with Sam’s. “Do we have that kind of spell?”

“We could,” Sam says. “Maybe. I’m not sure any of this is possible.” She drums her fingers on her leg. “And even if it was, I have no idea how we’d use it. The System Lords are spread out across the galaxy, and we’d have to somehow plan multiple simultaneous strikes—” She stops short, suddenly remembering that Amy is still in the room. She forces herself to take a deep breath.

“You do the spell, and the tape and stuff,” Jack says, returning to terminology that’s more appropriate for their kindergarten audience. “We’ll make the plan.”

Sam shakes her head at him. “Did you miss the part where I said I don’t know if any of this is possible?”

“Hey.” He takes her hand and pulls her up from where she’s sitting on the couch with no cushions. “Impossible has never stopped you before.”

She blinks back at him and wonders if she will ever cease to feel swept off her feet by this man and his unfailing faith in her.

“It’s slowed you down a couple times,” he adds, and she laughs.

Amy, however, is not amused. She’s emerged from her fort via the tunnel and is now standing in front of Sam and Jack, hands on her hips and brow deeply furrowed. “This is not how you’re supposed to play!” she says.

Sam looks down at Amy, who, at five years old, is still barely up to Jack’s waist. Sam spends so much time being amazed at how big Amy has gotten that she forgets that Amy is also still very small. And yet, she may have just supplied them with the solution they’ve been looking for, the key to finally ending this war.

Jack drops back down to his knees and puts his hands on Amy’s shoulders. “Did I ever tell you that you have the best ideas?” he says.

“My idea,” Amy says, “is that you’re a mosquito.”

Jack pokes her side with his finger. “Bzz,” he says. Amy doubles over into a fit of giggles as Sam pulls her phone out of her pocket. It’s time to get to work.

—

The SGC sends word to the Tok’ra, and in just a few short hours, Jacob Carter steps through the gate on Planet Earth. Jack is surprised, to say the least. For months, the Tok’ra have claimed that Jacob’s undercover mission was too important for them to even risk sending him a message from the Tau’ri, but now all of a sudden, here he is. Jack can’t help but wonder what’s changed.

It doesn’t take long for him to find out. They skip right past any pleasantries or social updates, and Jacob jumps into his report: the Tok’ra have been working on their own plan to take out the last of the System Lords. They need to implement it right away. And they need SG-1 to pull it off.

“So let me get this straight,” Jack says. “The Tok’ra—who have snakes, by the way—made a poison that kills snakes.”

“That’s why we need you guys to—” Jacob starts, but Jack cuts him off.

“You need Daniel,” he clarifies, “to pretend he’s a Goa’uld slave, infiltrate this Goa’uld summit thing they’re having, and activate the poison? Without back-up?”

“We think it’s the best shot we’ll have,” Jacob says, sounding defensive.

“No it’s not,” Jack shakes his head. “We have a plan too. Our plan is better.”

“You have a plan?” Jacob looks genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, Dad,” Carter jumps in. “Didn’t you get our message?”

“You sent a message?”

Jack rolls his eyes—these Tok’ra, they’re allies when they need you, but out to lunch when you need them—but Carter doesn’t seem phased. She launches into her own plan to build a gate-powered, symbiote-destroying device. Jack has been trying to get everyone to call it “Carter’s Hammer,” but so far, it hasn’t caught on, least of all with Carter herself.

“You really think you can do this?” Jacob asks her.

Carter shrugs, and Jack bites his tongue. He has no doubt whatsoever that she can do this and more. “I think it’s worth a try,” she says.

So they make a new plan that takes advantage of the opportunity the Tok’ra have identified, this summit of the System Lords, but uses Sam’s new device instead of the symbiote poison. The summit is supposed to take place on a ship, but for their new plan to work, it has to happen somewhere with a Stargate. Jacob thinks he can use his undercover position—as a minor Goa’uld in service to Lord Yu—to cast suspicion on the summit and convince Yu to insist they meet somewhere more neutral, like an uninhabited planet, one with little more than a Stargate.

Their meeting with Jacob wraps up pretty quickly, considering the scope of what they’re preparing to do. Sam kisses her dad on the cheek and speeds back to her lab, while Jack walks Jacob to the gate room to see him off.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Jacob says as they wait for the technician to dial the gate.

“Yes,” Jack says. “Thank you.” He wonders, not for the first time, exactly what kind of intel gets included in the SGC memos to the Tok’ra.

“So when’s the big date?” Jacob asks.

Jack gives Jacob a pointed look. “That depends, when are you going to be in Colorado Springs for more than half an hour?”

“Ah.”

The gate springs to life and Jack pats Jacob on the back. “Good luck with Yu,” he says.

Jacob grimaces. “No pressure, huh?” The fate of the galaxy may be at stake, but so is the fate of his daughter’s wedding.

Jack smiles as politely as he can. “None at all.”

—

The plan works. It’s not without its hiccups along the way. But not a week later, on an uninhabited planet in the far reaches of the galaxy, the last remaining System Lords meet their end.

SG-1—the original SG-1, all four of them—watch from a cloaked tel’tak, parked not far from the gate, as each Goa’uld collapses to the ground and their human lo’taurs look on, horrified.

Once the former hosts recover, they are more than willing to provide whatever intel they can to help the SGC and the Tok’ra eliminate the Goa’uld threat completely. In particular, the former host of Osiris has a lot to say about a Goa’uld named Anubis, whom everyone had apparently believed to be dead. Given a couple more years to build his army, this Anubis might have been a real threat. As it is, with the intel they gather from Osiris’ host and the others, he’s not much more than an annoyance.

The war with the Goa’uld is won. Back on Planet Earth, Jack submits his retirement papers, this time, for good.

—

“You’re what?” Amy says.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Sam glance at him before she responds. “We’re getting married,” she says. They’re in the playroom off the kitchen, Sam and Jack sitting on their knees next to each other, Amy in front of them.

“Why?” Amy asks. She sounds genuinely curious. It’s October now, late in the afternoon, and the sun hanging low in the sky shines through the windows, casting Amy in a golden light.

“Because we love each other,” Sam says, “and we want to be a family.”

Amy looks back and forth between them before settling her gaze on Jack. “Can I be your family too?”

Jack nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d really like that.” Her eyes are surprisingly intense for someone who’s just a few months past five. Jack can’t believe it, but he feels a little nervous.

Next to him, Sam clears her throat quietly. “Amy, this means Jack is going to be your dad.”

“Really?” Amy gasps, and Jack feels his breath hitch too. It’s what he and Sam have talked about, of course, it’s what they’ve been planning. But to hear Sam say it—out loud, and in front of Amy—it’s overwhelming, it’s a little bit frightening, and it’s deeply, deeply satisfying.

Jack nods again, not quite trusting words at this point.

“So…” Amy says, “am I getting married too?”

Jack bites back his smile; she’s asked this question in earnest, and now more than ever, he wants her to know he’s taking her seriously. “Getting married is just for me and your mom,” he says. “There’s something different for you and me.” He pauses and looks at Sam before continuing. “I’m going to adopt you. If that’s ok.”

“Adopt me?” Amy looks confused, and Jack can sympathize. It feels like such a strange legal procedure to have to go through, with all sorts of paperwork, but simply marrying Sam does not make him Amy’s full parent in the eyes of the law. And Jack wants to make sure he’s never again turned away at a hospital, or anywhere else she might need him.

“You already belong to your mom,” he explains, “and when I adopt you, you’ll belong to me too. We’ll belong to each other.”

Amy’s whole face breaks into a smile. “So you and mama are going to get married, and you and me are going to get adopted, and then we’ll be a family? For real?”

Jack can’t help but smile in return. “Yeah.” He feels Sam take his hand and squeeze it. “You ok with that?”

Amy steps forward and lays her soft, small hand on Jack’s weathered cheek. She looks confident and joyful, so much like her mom, but so completely like herself and the person she is becoming, Amelia Jane Carter, his daughter. It’s more than he ever thought he would have again. He knows it’s more than he deserves.

“I think I always knew you were supposed to be my dad,” she says. She wraps her arms around his neck and tucks herself into his chest.

Jack returns her embrace and leans his head against her hair. “I think you were right,” he says quietly, grateful that she can’t see the tears in his eyes.

—

Jack wants to just do something at the house for the wedding. They throw a good backyard cookout, and it happens to be Jack’s favorite kind of party. But Sam says she doesn’t want to end up doing dishes on her wedding night. Jack assures her that Daniel and Teal’c could take care of clean-up, and Sam says she doesn’t want Daniel and Teal’c hanging around on her wedding night either. Jack concedes that this is a good point.

They book a restaurant downtown instead, one with good food and better cake and a nice room for private events. On the day of the wedding, just before the ceremony, Jack is in the men’s room, trying in vain to straighten his tie. Behind him, he hears the door open and close.

“You could’ve made General, you know.”

“Jacob,” Jack says over his shoulder. “Glad you could make it.” He wiggles his tie one more time. Sam won’t care if it’s crooked, but there will be pictures and stuff; he feels like he should at least try.

“You could’ve been running the SGC someday. You could’ve moved up to Washington.”

Jack decides to give up on his tie, and turns around to face Jacob. “Now why would I want to go and do a thing like that?”

Jacob takes a step forward, his expression more serious than Jack had expected. “I was supposed to retire, you know. That’s why we bought the house. We were going to finally settle down.”

“What happened?” Jack asks, though he can probably guess.

“The Air Force happened,” Jacob says. “My retirement got postponed. Things came up. Fate, of the world, you know?” Jack’s jaw tightens a bit. He knows that line. “Jane moved out here ahead of me. She hated DC.”

Jack nods. He always knew Jane Carter had good taste.

“It was supposed to be just a couple months,” Jacob says, his gaze drifting as he trails off. “Then it was a couple more months, and then a couple more and then… then we just got used to it.” Jacob presses his lips together and shakes his head. “She wasn’t resentful. I think she was maybe even proud of me.” Jack stays quiet as Jacob takes a deep breath. “She was the best thing that ever happened to me, Jack. I always thought we’d have our time. And then…”

And then, a car accident. Then it was too late.

Jacob shifts and looks Jack in the eye again. “I live with that regret every day. But you and Sam…” He takes another fortifying breath and nods to himself. “I’m happy for her. I’m happy for both of you.”

He steps forward and takes Jack’s right hand in his, giving it a firm shake. He clasps his other hand on Jack’s shoulder, his eyes full of emotion, and Jack wonders for a second if Jacob is going to hug him. Then Jacob’s grip tightens and his eyes narrow.

“But don’t think for a second that I’m going to take my eyes off you, just because you’re leaving the Air Force,” Jacob says, and Jack raises his eyebrow. “And living in my house.” Jack raises his other eyebrow. “And sleeping with my daughter.”

Jack opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.

Of course, considering the first time they met, this does kind of feel like coming full circle.

Jacob loosens his grip and pats Jack on the shoulder, looking smug. Then his hands move to Jack’s neck, where he gives the intractable tie a sharp tug, successfully pulling it straight.

“Don’t forget, my people have ships,” he says, turning to make his exit.

“My people have ships too,” Jack replies, finally finding his voice. “Almost.”

Jacob just shrugs as he opens the door. “Our are faster.”

Jack grins at this, because the Tok’ra may have had ships for thousands of years, but the Tau’ri ships are being built by Sam Carter herself, and Jacob knows it. “Not for long.”

—

Sam was never the type of girl to dream about her wedding day. She dreamed about the stars. She dreamed about motorcycles and rocket ships and theoretical physics.

Now here she is, on her wedding day, standing in front of the mirror waiting for the ceremony to begin. The venue is nice. The flowers in her bouquet are beautiful. She really loves the dress she’s wearing. For all the time she never spent imagining a perfect wedding day, she thinks this is probably it.

And yet….

Sam looks at her reflection in the mirror and bites her lip.

Heather takes a step forward and lays a hand on her arm. “Everything ok?” Amy is waiting out in the hallway with Janet and Cassie—she’s beside herself with excitement and was getting antsy cooped up in the dressing room with her mom and aunt.

Sam swallows. “I just wish my mom could be here.” It’s a pretty big deal that her dad could make it, she reminds herself—a big deal that he’s alive at all, let alone on the planet, let alone at this restaurant on this day. But Sam is feeling her mom’s absence more acutely today than she has in a long time.

“Oh, honey,” Heather says. She gives Sam’s arm a squeeze.

“I just wish she could’ve known him. I wish she could see us, and Amy, see how happy we are.”

Heather rubs Sam’s arm reassuringly while Sam takes another deep breath. She’s not going to cry today, she promised herself no tears.

“She talked to me about him once, you know,” Heather says.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Heather replies. “It was just before she died, right after… you were sick, or injured or something? That summer?”

Oh. Jolinar. Sam always forgets that her mom spent so much time with the rest of SG-1 while she was at home recovering, basically comatose, for weeks.

“What did she say?” Sam’s own memories of her mom are finite, she knows she will never make any new ones, but to hear a memory from someone else is the most precious kind of gift, especially if this memory concerns the person she’s about to marry.

Heather thinks for a moment. “It was when you first went back to work. She told me she liked him,” Sam smiles at this; her mom had told her as much too, once upon a time. “And she said that wherever it was you were going and whatever it was you were doing out there, it made her feel better to know that he was by your side.”

Well. Sam doesn’t think she could imagine a better vote of confidence if she tried.

“I’m sorry,” Heather says. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Sam chuckles a little as she dabs at her eyes. She should’ve known it was inevitable. “These are good tears,” she tells Heather. “Thank you.”

Just then, the door creaks open and Janet sticks her head in. “Hey Sam,” she say. “It’s time.”

“Ok.” Sam flexes her hands and picks up her bouquet of flowers. “I’m ready.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW thank you all for so generously waiting for me to get the end of this fic in order. The last two chapters are both epilogues.... I mean, it's fanfic, I can have two epilogues, right? ;) Anyway, I expect them to follow pretty quickly. Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	37. Threads

On the eve of Amy’s ninth birthday party, everyone gathers at Sam and Jack’s for a cookout. Jack’s idea, years ago—to do a separate get-together just for family—was a good one, and it’s been their tradition ever since.

The weather is perfect. Sam can only hope that it holds up for tomorrow, when twenty or so of Amy’s closest friends will descend upon their house.

Out in the yard, Daniel and Teal’c are trying and failing to assemble the volleyball net, in a gesture that would be helpful if they were making any progress. As it is, the tangle of extendable poles in the twisted net seems to be worsening rather than improving. Sam would offer to help, but it’s considerably more fun to watch them try sort it out on their own. She figures she’ll give it a few more minutes before stepping in.

On the other side of the yard, Jack is holding a frisbee, surrounded by the the kids—Cassie and Amy and her cousins. Cass will start college in the fall, and Jack has told her that if she wants to be a college student on Planet Earth, she has to learn how to throw a frisbee. It looks like everyone wants in on the lesson.

Sam, Janet and Heather are on the deck, with a drink and a lounge chair each. They’re not _hiding_ , necessarily, but they are trying to keep as low a profile as possible.

Jack holds the frisbee high above his head, and Kyle, who’s twelve now, makes a leap for it, causing Jack to take a wide step backward. At the last second, Jack notices little Lucy, Mark and Heather’s daughter. At four years old, she’s the youngest of the bunch by a good margin, but she doesn’t seem to know it. She likes to be right in the thick of things, and that’s where she is now. Jack pivots to avoid stepping on her, and lands awkwardly to the side.

“If he wrecks his knee again, I swear to god, I’m going to make him fix it himself this time,” Janet mutters under her breath.

As Jack recovers his balance, Amy swats the frisbee away from him and tries to hand it off to Gus, but Kyle intercepts it and makes a run for the swing set. Cassie is definitely not learning much about being a college student on Planet Earth right now.

The sliding door from the house opens, and Mark walks out onto the deck, his cell phone tucked under his ear. “Yeah,” he says into the phone. “Ok, great. See you then.” He snaps the phone shut with a pleased look on his face.

Heather peers at him warily over the tops of her sunglasses. “Who was that?”

“That was Pete,” he says.

Heather rolls her eyes and leans back in her lounge chair, pushing her sunglasses back into place.

“Pete?” Sam asks.

“Buddy of mine from college, Pete Shanahan. He just moved back to Denver for work. We’re getting together next weekend.”

Heather scrunches up her nose. “You’re getting together?”

“We’re meeting for a beer,” Mark clarifies, and Heather seems relieved that they won’t be entertaining this Pete person at their house. “He’s a good guy,” Mark insists to Sam. “Couple of years ago, I probably would’ve tried to set you up.”

Heather snickers, and Sam smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “Couple of years ago, I would’ve said no.” Her gaze travels back across the lawn to Jack, who’s now trying to balance Lucy on his shoulders while showing Cass the right way to hold the frisbee.

“Well no, not a couple, that’s not what I meant,” Mark says defensively. Behind them, Sam hears the porch door open and close again as Jacob emerges from the house. “I just meant, you know, when you first moved here. Eight years ago, or whatever.”

Jacob snorts a laugh and slaps Mark on the shoulder as he walks past them. “She would’ve said no then too,” he says, striding off in the direction of Teal’c, Daniel, and the would-be volleyball net.

Sam chuckles to herself, and Mark doesn’t argue.

Janet tries to take a sip of her now-empty drink and frowns. “Anyone else need a refill?” she asks, rising from her lounge chair.

Heather looks at her own drink, which is also on empty. “I’ll come with you,” she says, and the two of them head back into the house, leaving Sam and Mark alone on the deck.

Mark sits down in the chair Janet just vacated. “Does Dad seems different to you lately?” he asks in a low voice.

“Hmm.” Sam pretends to think about it. “Different how?”

It’s been a month since Selmak died, and two weeks since Jacob received his new Tok’ra symbiote. They’d known for a long time that Selmak was declining, and when she passed, Jacob was bereft. But the new symbiote has a personality all of his own, and he’s certainly helping move the grieving process along.

“I don’t know,” Mark says, struggling a bit. “He just seems… more… different.”

“More different?” Sam teases, but Mark doesn’t take the bait.

“You haven’t noticed?”

“Well, he has been home more,” Sam concedes. It’s been years since the Goa’uld were defeated, and it took a while, but the long-term, deep undercover missions which seemed to so define the Tok’ra have finally become a thing of the past.

“Yeah,” Mark says, looking out across the lawn as Jacob whacks Teal’c on the back of the head and sticks the correct end of the pole into the ground. “I’m not saying it’s bad. He just seems… I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing.”

Sam still can’t decide if would be easier if Mark knew about all this stuff, or if it’s easier that he doesn’t have a clue.

“You know I like Jack, right?” Mark says.

Janet and Heather choose that moment to re-emerge from the house. They shoot Mark matching dirty looks for stealing Janet’s spot.

Sam smiles and stands up. “You guys want to play?” she says, motioning out to the yard. Now that the net is coming together, the frisbee group is heading over there too, Amy with a yellow volleyball tucked under her arm.

They all gather in the middle of the yard and Jack claps his hands together. “Ok,” he says, “what are the teams? Adults against kids? Guys against girls? SG-1 against the world?” Sam laughs at this, but Amy makes a face.

“No way, Dad,” she says. “I want you on my team, and it’s my birthday, so I get to pick.”

“Birthday girl calls it,” he says with a smile that Sam knows all too well. He never could say no to her, not even when she wasn’t his.

—

Later, after everyone else has left and Amy has gone to bed, Jack stands in front of the fireplace mantle, staring at Charlie’s picture. It’s been nine years since he died, and Jack can still hear that gunshot like it was yesterday. He suspects he always will.

Charlie would be 17 years old now. Maybe he’d have a car and a girlfriend. Maybe he’d idolize Jack and love the Air Force and want to be a pilot. Maybe he’d hate the Air Force and resent his dad. Maybe he’d be into football, or chess, or video games. Maybe he’d love building things, or inventing things, or blowing things up. Maybe he’d have a car and a boyfriend. Jack wishes more than anything that he’d gotten a chance to know the person his son would’ve become. He misses him every single day.

Jack shifts slightly and looks at the picture next to Charlie’s on the mantle. It’s a family picture that they took last summer, Jack with one arm around Sam and the other around Amy, standing in front of the cabin. He remembers that day so clearly too, though it was just a day, like so many they’ve had at the cabin over the years. They’d spent the morning riding their bikes, the afternoon fishing, and the evening eating popcorn and playing board games until they passed out, full and happy and completely exhausted. Somewhere during the course of it, they’d taken this picture.

Jack squints and tries to see Charlie, nine years older than he was in that last school photograph, sitting on the dock next to Amy, their jeans rolled up and their fishing poles catching nothing at all.

He hears Sam enter the living room behind him, but he doesn’t turn. She approaches him slowly and wraps her arms around his waist, laying her head against his back.

Jack moves his hands over Sam’s and gives them a squeeze. “I don’t know anything about raising a nine year-old,” he says quietly. “If you married me for my parenting expertise, you should know, this is where it runs out.”

Behind him, Sam hums in acknowledgement and then nudges him so he turns around in her arms to face her. “I married you, Jack O’Neill, because I was so in love with you that I couldn’t possibly do anything else.”

Jack’s fingers twitch against her arms as his mind reaches for a reply—something teasing about how sappy she can be, something sincere about how he felt the same way, about how he _feels_ , every day, so thankful for her and for the life they live together. But words are failing him, so instead of saying anything at all, he closes his arms around her and buries his face in her neck. He knows she understands. He knows this is enough.

When they pull apart, and she raises a hand to his face, like she can’t help but touch him, like even after all these years, the reality of it still hasn’t quite sunk in.

“Big day tomorrow,” she says. “What do you say we go to bed?”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack allows her to take his hand and lead him up the stairs.

 

 


	38. Epilogue: 1969

In a dark, abandoned room at the bottom of a missle silo underneath Cheyenne Mountain, a long-dormant Stargate spins awake.

Amy Carter straightens her jacket. She has been waiting for this moment her whole life.

Through the door, she hears the familiar sound of an incoming wormhole, followed quickly by the less-familiar sound of bullets impacting the concrete wall. She flinches, though she’d known to expect weapons fire. Then she hears them crash through the gate: one, two, three sets of hurried footsteps, and the thud of a fourth slamming onto the ramp. There’s quiet in the gate room as the wormhole disengages, and Amy imagines them collecting themselves, dusting themselves off, trying to make sense of their surroundings. They must be confused. She wonders if they’re scared.

Then she hears a voice—one she hasn’t heard in decades. It stirs her subconscious, deeper than a memory, more tangible than a dream. She knows it in her bones, the sound of her father’s voice.

“Auntie Em? Auntie Em?”

Amy rolls her eyes and huffs quietly to herself, the overbearing nostalgia of the moment broken by his offbeat attempt at humor. He always did know how to lighten the mood. And it’s just the kick she needs right now to get herself moving. Taking a deep breath, she pushes the door open and enters the gate room.

“Hello, Jack.” _Jack, Jack._ They’d told her she’d have to call him Jack.

Four sets of eyes snap to hers, but she keeps her gaze locked on the team leader. Her heart is beating wildly, an untamable mix of excitement and terror and nerves and love, but her dad makes her feel centered, he always has.

Regaining her equilibrium after a few breaths, she allows herself a moment to notice his outfit: black leather jacket over a white t-shirt, washed out jeans, that ridiculous hat. She can’t help the laugh that escapes as she looks around at the rest of the group.

“Teal’c? Daniel? I hardly recognize you with hair!” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she realizes that she’s given too much away, with this implication that Daniel will get old enough to go bald. But Daniel, of all of them, will cheat death so many times. She decides not to worry about it.

“Do we know you?” Jack says, though she can see in his eyes that he’s making the connection. The Amy Carter he knows is some eighty years younger than this one, but he’s known generations of Carter women by now. It’s disbelief more than a failure to recognize her that drives his question.

Amy breathes out slowly and allows her gaze to fall upon the woman standing next to him, then-Captain Samantha Carter, so young, and just as beautiful as Amy ever remembered her. With as much confidence as she can muster, she says, “You will recognize me.”

Sam looks back at her, blue eyes wide and shining. “Oh my god, Amy!”

She steps quickly over to where Amy is standing and pulls her into her arms. Amy hugs her mom back and feels at once the memories of a lifetime of hugs—hugs in greeting or farewell, hugs in support and comfort, in congratulations and joy—hugs that have been lost to her for so many years now.

Except for this hug, right now. This one she still has.

“Mom,” Amy says back.

In her arms, the young Sam Carter seems overwhelmed too. “You got old,” she whispers quietly, brushing her hand over Amy’s curly grey hair.

Amy chuckles and nods. “I did,” she confirms, squeezing her mom just a little tighter. She thinks she might never let go.

But then there’s movement out of the corner of her eye, gentle but insistent, a tapping on Sam’s shoulder, and there’s that voice again. “Excuse me,” Jack says, “isn’t Amy two?”

Amy steps back and gives him a teasing scowl, both for interrupting her hug and for rounding down on her age. “I’m almost three,” she says, “in your time.” Her parents were vague on a lot of the details of their encounter in the future, but they’d had to be precise about the date.

“How do you know that?” Sam asks.

“You,” Amy says to Sam. She tries not to look at Jack, but it’s hard. He’d been there too. “When I was old enough to understand, you explained to me what happened in 1969, how you entered the Stargate a few seconds too soon, and the solar flare threw you far into the future. You told me I would be the one to send you back home, where you belong.”

“Like a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Sam muses, and Amy nods.

Amy has always known about the Stargate. Long before she knew what it was called, she knew it existed, and knew what it could do. She remembers her dad telling her stories, fantastic stories that captured her imagination and commandeered her dreams. She remembers—when she was a little bit older—her mom, with a twinkle in her eyes, telling her about a worm trying to get through an apple. She remembers when she was older still, both of them sitting down with her and explaining what “classified” means, how it’s special that she knows these things but not exactly allowed, how even if she did tell her friends, they wouldn’t believe her, they couldn’t.

She had been a young adult by the time her parents told her about her own role in the future, and the past. It was a calling as much as it was an accomplishment, this thing she’d already done that she hadn’t done yet. Somehow, it had made sense to her even then, and it has fascinated, challenged and inspired her ever since.

Sam’s eyes drift a little bit, and Amy can practically see the questions spinning around in Sam’s head as she processes all of this. She’s probably trying to decide what to ask first. But there’s no time for such things.

“Mom,” Amy says, with reluctance, “you have to go now.”

Jack swallows and shifts his stance, and Amy can tell that he’s not pleased. As for Sam, she tears up and reaches for Amy again, running her hand over Amy’s face and hair like she’s still an almost-three year-old child. Amy glances at her dad; he’s watching her carefully. She wants so badly to reach for him too.

_You have to call him Jack_ , they’d told her, all those years ago. _It will be hard, but that’s the way it has to be. He wasn’t your dad then. We weren’t together._

But even in just this brief interaction, Amy can see that they were wrong. It’s something in the way Jack looks at her, at both of them; it’s something in how Sam leans toward him without even realizing it. Amy has the benefit of having known them for decades, of having watched them grow old together. They may not be married now, or romantically involved, but they are most certainly _together_.

“No,” Sam is saying, shaking her head. “Amy, please, there must be some way, there’s so much to talk about.“

“You of all people know I can’t,” Amy replies. “The timing must be precise. You have to go.”

“Oh Amy,” Sam says, pulling her into another hug. “I love you,” she whispers fiercely.

Amy blinks back tears of her own. “I know. I’ve always known that. I love you too, Mom.” It seems so insufficient, such paltry words to offer in this stolen moment in time for all the love and care and purpose that Sam poured into her, that shaped the person she became and the life she led.

And yet, it’s so much more than she can say to her dad.

Her eyes dart over to him and she can’t help it. With one hand still on Sam’s arm, she reaches the other out and gives his hand a squeeze. “It’s good to see you, Jack,” she says. It’s the most she can say; really, it’s probably too much. She tries to keep her voice steady but she doesn’t quite pull it off.

He squeezes her hand back and looks into her eyes, and she can’t tell whether he’s trying to figure something out or trying not to figure it out.

She thinks suddenly of Charlie, the brother she never met, the boy who died the day before she was born. Amy had never felt like Charlie’s replacement, not even after she learned about the strange coincidence of their lives, so close to touching but not quite. To her, it had always seemed as if she came along when she did so that not a single day would pass without a child in the world who loved Jack O’Neill. She hopes he learned how to forgive himself, in the end, for what happened to his son. If nothing else, she hopes he knew how much he was loved—how much he _is_ loved.

With great difficulty, Amy breaks eye contact and pulls her hand away from his. Giving herself a mental shake, she touches the device on her wrist that activates the Stargate. The event horizon appears in a silent shimmer behind them, its blue glow drawing everyone’s gaze away from her and allowing her a moment to collect herself.

“I will tell you this,” she says. She looks at Teal’c and Daniel, who are halfway up the ramp, and then back at her parents, who are still standing next to each other in front of her. “Your journey is just beginning.” She knows they won’t understand her full meaning right now, but she thinks that maybe someday, they will look back on this moment and know just what she meant.

They turn and walk away, and Amy watches, committing every last detail to memory. Once they’re through, she’ll use her device one more time and send herself home, to her own time, her life, her family, but never again to them.

“Well,” Jack says, tipping his cap in her direction. “I guess we’ll be seeing you, kid.”

Amy smiles and nods as they disappear through the event horizon. They’re leaving her but they’re going back to her too. They’re going back to each other.

“Yes,” she says, more to herself than to them. “You will.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's a wrap! 
> 
> Many million thanks to NellieOleson, who jumped in halfway through and volunteered to beta. She spent a whole lot of time and energy indulging my obsession with this fic, and she talked me off many a cliff, big and small. This story is much better because of her. Thank you!
> 
> And oh my god, thank you to all you readers and commenters!! Do you see how many comments there are on this fic?!? You guys are amazing!!! Your comments and kudos have kept me going—seriously, any time I'd get stuck or frustrated, I'd go back and read all your comments. :) <3 I never expected this fic to get the reception it did, and I've been blown away by your responses and support! THANK YOU for coming on this journey with me!!


End file.
